There are aspects of my childhood that I’ve been trying to understand for a long time but which still don’t quite make sense.
Just after my eighth birthday I joined the church choir, a conventional enough development; expected and welcomed. I loved singing and being in the choir made church a lot less boring. Sunday school was bad enough without having to lose another hour for Matins.
Also, just after my eighth birthday Rich and I were invited to join the Northchapel Cubs. The troop met immediately after school one day a week which would have meant the pair of us walking 2 miles home. That in itself wasn’t particularly daunting, as normal, mischievous little boys we’d been given detentions on numerous occasions; the walk home was part of the punishment.
When I asked Mum if I could join the Cubs she said “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Darling” and clearly hoped I’d let the matter rest. Not a chance! I wanted to know what could possibly be wrong with doing something that all my friends were doing and which sounded like a lot of fun.
Eventually my persistence got on Mum’s nerves and I ended up with a smacked bottom for my trouble but I couldn’t get her to change her mind. Rich, staunchly loyal as ever, decided that if I wasn’t allowed to join the Cubs then he didn’t want to.
It wasn’t until early autumn that I contracted pneumonia and came perilously close to ending my days, so that wasn’t a part of Mum’s reasoning. Admittedly I wasn’t a particularly robust child and having my tonsils removed at 3 had done nothing to reduce my vulnerability to illness.
Against that though, I’d tear around the village and surrounding woods with no worries and in all weathers bringing home at least my fair share of cuts, scrapes and bruises; that seemed to be alright.
After I’d fully recovered from pneumonia I was allowed to resume my normal boyish activities and continued my habit of acquiring injuries. Everybody, Mum included, seemed to be relieved that such a serious illness didn’t appear to be having any long term repercussions.
When our school friends asked us why we weren’t joining the Cubs Rich quickly put his hand over my mouth and stoutly declared that we didn’t want to, saving me from declaring myself a “Mummy’s Boy”.
When the Cubs went on their first camp and I heard about how much fun they’d had I was wildly jealous and very upset but wisely decided not to say anything at home.
In the way of children I soon forgot about the whole thing and a couple of years later had a much more serious problem to deal with so the matter never got mentioned again.
To this day I have no idea why Mum was so set against what was seen as a natural part of a boy’s life; of course it’s now far too late to ever find out.
Love
He he! I NEVER wanted to join the Cubs or Scouts. My brother had and I’m sure I’d have been encouraged to do so had I wanted. But part of the reason I didn’t was that I had my own friends, knew nobody who went there (echoes of Rich?) but I knew that my Dad went there quite often ‘to help out’. My Dad’s idea of helping out included many good and varied things. but it also included taking as many opportunities as possible to put boys over his knee or in a ‘touch our toes’ position if they were older. I know this is what he did there because my brother had seen him in action.
Ye Gods! You definitely made the right choice there. I really wanted to join the Cubs, it all sounded so exciting and much more “boyish” than being stuck at home in a house full of girls.
What is truly astonishing is that your Father could cheerfully conduct himself like that knowing that his own son was watching. Arrogance or stupidity?
I think your mother saw it has a starting point too you growing up and becoming more independent, she recognised these signs. Her reluctance to see you grow up manifested into this reasoning which prevented you from joining the cubs.
You may well be right. It’s probably not a coincidence that when Mum eventually remarried (I was 12 then) such thinking came to an abrupt stop. Suddenly I was being pushed to do many more “normal” boy-type things.
What really upset me at the time though was my 2 older sisters had been Brownies and my oldest sister had moved on to to the Girl Guides, they got to go camping and have fun. It’s hard to see any fairness in that when you’re 8.