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Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Poetry Scouting Scouts

Backwoods Stew

#Scouts #Cubs #Beavers #Supper

The ingredients were simple enough,

Taters in the embers of some dying beechwood

Corned beef, Some Carrots and a very big onion

Butter for frying, and some stock cubes for flavour

The Metallic billy can protected by the finest washing liquid

as flames licked the sides of the can

As the potatoes softened, the onions went see-through

hiding amongst the beef

and as the bubbles rose bringing the feast together

chef prepared his serving spoons – as it was served in tin mugs

in the other can ? usually tea but not that night

as chocolate buns were served for afters – with hot cocoa.

Beavers, Cubs, Scouts and Ventures all headed for bed after Campfire – with Smiles on their faces.

They said “Ban Soap at Camp”….but this rule didn’t apply to the cookware….as the recepticles enjoyed a dip in the bubbliest of alfresco baths and a scrub getting rid of charcoaled washing liquid

Categories
Camping Cooking Memories Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Poetry

Flagbreak

Unfurl

A summer morning, Worsley woods, west of Manchester

the sun just peaking through the nest of trees

circle of tents in various spots

and a scout leader starting the beginnings of an altar fire

little faces pop out of the niger tents to grab a view

breakfast served at 8 am sharp

but first, a mug of tea

some make a break for the toilet block

as sausage and eggy bread sizzle in a pan

orders given to the sous chef … he keeps his eye on the food

and slowly the camp leader makes his way to the pole

and all stand still in observance

the flag is released from its bonds

and flies high in the gentle breeze , proudly to attention

and all present give a salute

before breakfast is served

Categories
Eating Food Growing up Pleasures Poetry

Eggy Bread

Egg

This ain’t no restaurant “French toast”

it’s made over burning logs

in the country air

Foundation for the morning

Set against a glorious sunrise

and cups of camp tea

Thick crusty bread

absorbed in a lake of

golden runniness

Bacon awaits its partner

as it cooks away

in its fat

Poor Man’s omelette ?

after a night on the hills

it’s the food of kings.

Knives and forks ?

or eaten as a sandwich

only quandry – sauce Red or Brown ?

Categories
Acrostic Memories Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Poetry

Well worn Blanket

Salford 16th May 2017

Blanket

Back in Nineteen eighty two – i started taking this long woolly blanket to camp

Like many other scouts i stuck it at the end of my tents sleeping bag, and

As it got cold, i wrapped it round me to keep warm

Now, each camp i went to – i picked up a patch from the campsite – and these were

Kept on the woolly blanket…covering areas from Cumbria to Derbyshire – I

Even had a whole heap of locations such as

Torquay , paignton and brixham and these found a spare spot on my sleeping spot

Categories
Art Colours Leisure Life Memories Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Parks Places Pleasures

Mountain Meadow

#coloryourworld #cyw #mountainmeadow

Salford, 22nd February 2017

 

Lakeland, painting from photo by B.F.Kirkham

Mountain Meadow,

this colour takes me back to a particular time in my life

when my old boots would come off the stack in the hallway

and i’d journey with mates up and down the motorway

go north – and meet up with the cows of the lakes

rendezvous-ing with cows (mooing)

go south – and meet up with the sheep of the peaks

and reservoir regulars with bright coloured beaks

enjoying whatever the wind and the clouds threw at us

but mostly enjoying a sunny day.

 

A Tale of Old Boots

Good companion

 

 

Categories
Acrostic Outdoor Pursuits Poetry Scouting

Trust

Trust

Take it from me – its a big thing

Relying on the guys keeping anchor at the top of the rocky mountain

Until you dropped down over the basalt edge

Something bit at you – should I believe this lot

Till you realised – they’re holding the rope you’re tied to.

Categories
Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Poetry Schooldays Scouting Scouts

Knots

#Napowrimo #Day17 #Knots

#Blogging101

A Dictionary poem for #Day17 of the Napowrimo challenge.  Based on my old scouting days! enjoy.

 

Don’t get stressed,

in time – you’ll master it

creating an artform from two ends of rope

bridges don’t need wood or metal but a few simple knots

Reef Knot, Clove and Timber Hitch are handy for a pioneer

and some west country whipping will soon get those old ropes into shape

Loop your ropes tight around the tree to maintain tension

Sheet bend and bowline and the old Round Turn comes in here

The half hitch keeps these in tight.

Be careful with your left and your right though

as one wrong move with your rope work could spell disaster

Can’t have a Granny Knot where a Reef Knot is Needed.

Categories
Camping Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Schooldays Scouting Scouts

A Tale of Old Boots

In a part of the corridor, just by the stairs by the front door, lies a pair of Old Black Boots. It’s been quite a while since they have been walking. Their leather is worn from the passing of time…

Source: A Tale of Old Boots

Categories
books Childhood

Books from Childhood

In response to the prompt

Second Time Around

My bookshelf is ever evolving,

Fiction, Comedy, Drama

And a whole host of autobiographies from celebrities far and wide.

But alongside these, recently, have come familiar tales from my childhood.

DSC00787.JPG

Long john Silver shares a space with Paddington Bear and Winnie the Pooh.  The Riverbank tales of Kenneth Graham have evolved thanks to the English Writer, William Horswood and more recently Douglas Adams Arthur Dent has shared a bench with the likes of Rincewind, Angua and Detritus of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld

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I’ve read the Arthur Ransome tale of the Walker Children in their boat on the English Lakes, Swallows and Amazons , a number of times.  The First time being at High school.  It tells the tale of their first adventure out at water on their boat, the swallow and their experiences of taking a boat out for the first time.  You could say i caught the bug for exploring after reading this book – exploring the land and sea with the Scouts and Ocean Youth Club some time after.

Categories
Camping Character Description Memories Outdoor Pursuits Outdoors Prose Tale writing

A Tale of Old Boots

In a part of the corridor, just by the stairs by the front door, lies a pair of Old Black Boots. It’s been quite a while since they have been walking. Their leather is worn from the passing of time and many a moorland excursion. Lakeland water now pools at the toes.But they still feel right. As if once put on, they could take their owner from their Salford home out to the hills of Perpignan and back again, covering miles along the way and without a mutter or moan.

Now, Rugby boots and training shoes might be fine for a sportsman at Old Trafford but they don’t cut it on the fields of the West Yorkshire Moors. If these boots could talk, the tales they would tell – of covering rocky paths once stepped by Roman Legionaries, of campfire ditties sung round old ancient stones, and of moonlight illuminating mugs of steaming hot Beef Tea.

They’d sit outside tents so the groundsheet stayed clean, observing the melodic snoring around them.  And leave their owner a morning surprise if they hadn’t been left under the flysheet. They would walk for miles as their owner crossed field and moor, praying that they would avoid the hidden cowpats. Of course they’d get cleaned on one day, just before parade, as the group amassed around a solitary flagpole.

And when they got home, they created a bit of a fuss. Left outside on the evening news on a step by the Garden lawn.  Local politicians now have the boots treadmarks of mud and clay imprinted on them.  But then again, wi’ these boots – they’ve no interest in politics – unless it’s rights to roam.  The bucket and wire brush look threatening, next to the bin.  But these boots know – you can scrub em till the cows come home – this mud sticks!

Where they’ll go next, is anyone’s guess. But for now – having had a ‘tidyup’ – they just sit on the varnished wooden shelf, looking quite a sight with dark brown Yorkshire mud entrapped in the soles. They look at themselves in the tall hallway mirror and think of the streams they’ve crossed and the moors they’ve run, the bracken broken for kindling and stiles climbed in fun.

Mountain Meadow

Good Companion