THE TENTH SCOUT LAW

TROOP, GATHER AROUND. Pow-wow time. I want you to pay close attention to what Bunny has to say. We shufed forward and squatted in a semi-circle facing Scoutmaster Hollis Hopkins and Assistant Scoutmaster Bunny Billoughway. The stern look on Bunnys face told us we were in for a serious talk. Bunny was an Amerasian. He and his Japanese mother had been abandoned by Sergeant Billoughway of the 15th US Infantry when he returned to the States after completing his ve-year term of service in Tientsin. According to US law, neither Bunny nor his mother had claim to American citizenship. They went through hard times, the mother barely able to feed and clothe the lad let alone send him to school. Fortunately, the Marist Brothers who ran St Louis College absorbed half his school fee, and the Knights of St Columba chipped in with the rest. He repaid his benefactors in the only way he knew how; by excelling both in class and on the eld. As a member of Second Tientsin Troop he earned every merit badge conceived by Scoutdom. He had both his Green and Yellow, and Red and White Cords, but more incredibly, he had the fabled Bushmans Thong. It was said he was the only Scout east of Suez to gain that distinction. Born impervious to the cold, he thought nothing of having us out in the biting wind on a February afternoon ashing our semaphore ags across the frozen
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rugger pitch at the Union Church end of Recreation Grounds. All feeling would be gone from our ngers and toes before hed deign to lead us back to our den in Anderson Pavilion. But we had our reward the brew-up the traditional outdoorsmans ritual performed indoors. And just as it would do outdoors, the heavy-duty dixie on the pot stove simmered forever before coming to the boil. At that long awaited moment, the Tenderfoot delegated to the task would proceed to consign half a packet of NAAFI tea into the bubbling turbulence. And only after it turned a rich red-brown would he ladle the brew into our tin camping mugs. Of course, those who couldnt wait for the superheated mugs to cool paid for it with a good sharp scalding to tongue and lip. It was on such an afternoon, after tea was over, and the cleaning up done, that Mr Hopkins called us together for our pow-wow. And so there we were, seated cross-legged, bushman style, all ears for what Bunny had to say. I want to remind you of one of the most important lessons our founder, Lord Baden Powell, spelled out for us in this the Scouts bible. Bunny paused, brandishing his yellow-covered copy of Scouting for Boys. Well done if youve read the page I told you to read and can still look each other in the eye. Shame on you if it leaves you hanging your head. That can only mean youve been eating food thats too rich or that youve been sleeping on your back in too warm a bed. Now, speak up anyone who isnt following me. Not a peep from the troop. You can only be a true Scout, continued Bunny, if you follow the Tenth Scout Law, which is . . . ? which is what, Andrey Ovchinnikoff? A Scout is clean in thought, word, and deed, the curly-headed Tenderfoot from Beaver Patrol rattled off smartly. Even as Bunny rewarded him with a nod, his eyes were sweeping across the troop. The raspy breathing of Fox Patrols Arkasha Strigine was the only sound that broke the prison-cell hush.
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Those of you who think it smart telling smutty stories should know that thats the rst step on the downward path to what the Chief Scout calls Beast-li-ness. Now any questions? I stole a glance at Hawks Patrol grouped on my right. Some had faces of stone, some had sadness in their eyes. Not Vahab, Urik, or Louis. They were exchanging knowing looks. Ah, yes! Werent they the ringleaders of the circle that met after meetings in the badminton shed to tell jokes? Wasnt it Urik who just an hour earlier had repeated for me Vahabs latest: Whats the difference between Mae West and a rooster? Surely, one of you has a question? Bunny went on, coldly persistent. Kings Scout OToole raised his hand. Yes, what is it Michael? Has all of this to do with thinking about girls, sir? Before Bunny Billoughway could gather his thoughts, the golden boy answered for himself: I never think about girls, sir. The burst of hilarious guffaws was silenced by the CLANG-CLANG-CLANG of Scoutmaster Hopkinss hiking cane against the cast-iron dixie. Glaring like a ferret, he turned to Bunny. Carry on if you dont mind, Assistant Scoutmaster. A recharged Bunny addressed the troop: Anyone whos not too sure of what Ive been getting at, I want him to speak up right here and now. There was a shifting of positions, creaking of knees, clearing of throats. What about you? He pointed to First Class Scout Francis Phillips. Do you understand what Ive been saying? Yes, sir. That girls are dangerous. Thats not what Bunnys been saying, Mr Hopkins shot out. Excuse me sir, broke in Michael Tingey of Hawks Patrol. Did you know that at Phyllis Evanss party they allowed mixed dancing? Boys and girls? Never on your life! But they did. Richard Evans told me himself that
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he danced the fox trot with Constance Gherardi. Under strict supervision, I should hope . . . Now what is it Volodia? Permission to speak, sir. Permission granted. All eyes now on pesky Volodia Perovsky of Fox Patrol. In the Sokols, Ataman Yugovich told us that if you think too much about girls before you get married, your spine will weaken. You could even become hunchbacked. Arkasha Strigines pumping shoulders and gurgling guffaws sent Tenderfoots da Silva and Kay into peals of giggles. Silence, I say. Stop that silly nonsense at once! Before dismissing the troop, Mr Hopkins ordered Arkasha to step from the ranks. Under withering looks from both scoutmasters he stood with eyes lowered and head bent, exposing the half-inch of bristle that stood out like a nail brush over his entire scalp. He was a month overdue for his Russian close-crop. And how did he ever manage to wash and dry his face, so pitted was it with acne sores? You couldnt nd anyone more loutish than Arkasha, yet you couldnt help taking to him. And probably so because the grown-ups were always picking on him, always making him the goat. Right now, as we were ling out, several of our patrol whispered words of encouragement. I did better; I gave him a wink and a nudge. Shouldnt have done. I caught Mr Hopkinss attention. Just a minute, Desmond, just a minute, if you please. The scoutmasters ferrety eyes had me covered. I thought you were going to try for your First Aid Badge. And your Signallers, Bunny added. I am, sir, I said limply. But havent you missed meetings? Snappy thinking, and I came up with the perfect excuse. I was swotting for my Cambridge prelims, sir. Theres talk in the troop that youve been at the skating rink mixing with the wrong sort. Why oh why was I born to blush? Always it was my
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face that gave me away. Now, theyd never believe another word . . . If you really want those badges youre to work for them. Nothing without effort in this life. You know that, dont you? I do, sir. Then you are going to work for them. Yes, sir. Work hard? Yes, sir. Good lad. Now I want you to think carefully about what Im going to say. Patrol Leader Arne Cedervall will shortly be leaving Tientsin. His Second, Ura Abramovitch, is transferring to the Sokols. Hawks Patrol will be in need of both a patrol leader and second. You might t the bill for leader, but you will have to prove it by putting in a jolly good effort over the next three months. Will you give it a try? Yes, sir. I will, sir. Thank you, sir. Why didnt I have the guts to speak my mind? Why did I say yes when I was having such a hard time maintaining my keenness for scouting?

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