Unbearable Lightness of Scones

54. Badge of Honour

Bertie and Tofu arrived at the cubs at six o’clock. Rosemary Gold, the cub leader, the Akela, as she was known, introduced herself to Stuart and greeted the two boys warmly. Stuart withdrew, after saying goodbye to Bertie and promising to be back in an hour’s time.

“And you are?” Akela said to Bertie once Stuart had gone.

“Bertie Pollock.”

Akela smiled encouragingly. “And how old are you, Bertie?”

Bertie looked up at the ceiling. His heart was hammering within him and his mouth felt quite dry. He took a deep breath. “Well, at the moment I’m…” He was going to say eight, qualified by the formula he had prepared, but he did not have time to speak.

“I’m eight,” said Tofu. “And Bertie’s in my class. He’s eight too. We’re both eight. Eight.”

Akela smiled again. “Very well, I think I get the message. And you are…”

“Tofu,” said Tofu. “T, O, F, U. It’s an Irish name.”

Bertie looked at his friend. This was the first he had heard of this.

“Irish? How interesting,” said Akela. “It’s not a name I’m familiar with. Are your parents Irish then?”

Tofu nodded.

Bertie was still staring at his friend. “You never said your dad…”

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” Tofu whispered.

“But your name isn’t Irish,” persisted Bertie. “You’re named after that stuff that vegetarians eat. That white stuff. You’ve got the same name as that white stuff.”

“I’m not,” said Tofu. “It’s Irish. It means… it means chieftain in Irish.”

“Well, boys,” said Akela. “If you go and sit over there, we’ll start once everyone has arrived. And there are still a few to turn up. Here’s somebody now. Another new member.”

The two boys looked in the direction of the door.

“It’s her,” hissed Tofu.

Bertie groaned. “I didn’t tell her,” he whispered. “I promise you, Tofu. I didn’t tell her.”

Olive came skipping across the room to where Akela was standing, followed by her mother, who, seeing Bertie, waved in friendly recognition. While Olive’s mother talked to Akela, Tofu and Bertie stared steadfastly at the floor.

“She’s going to spoil it,” said Bertie miserably.

“Why doesn’t she join the brownies?” Tofu asked. “She just wants to spoil our fun.” He paused. “I hate her. I really hope that she gets struck by lightning sometime. I really do.”

Bertie’s eyes widened. He did not think that this sort of talk was compatible with the cub promise. “I don’t think that’s very kind, Tofu,” he said.

“Not to kill her altogether,” relented Tofu. “But maybe enough just to fuse her to the ground.”

Olive’s mother now left, and Akela summoned the two boys over to her side. “Olive tells me that you already know her,” she said. “It’s always better when people are friends at the beginning.”

“She’s not my friend,” mumbled Tofu. “And why doesn’t she join the brownies?”

“What was that, Tofu?” asked Akela.

“Nothing,” said Tofu.

“And Olive says that she’s been in the cubs before,” Akela went on. “Which is a good thing, as we shall need to appoint some leaders. In the cubs we have somebody called a sixer. That person is the head cub of a six. You’ll all be in the red six, and Olive will be in charge.”

This news was greeted with horrified silence by the two boys.

“Well, that’s settled that,” said Akela. “Now I’ll administer the cub promise. This is a very solemn moment, boys and girls. So all stand in a line and put up your right hands like this. This is the special scout salute that Baden-Powell invented. No, Tofu, the fingers face inwards rather than the way you’re doing it. That’s right. Now I’ll say the words of the promise and you say them after me.”

There was no heart in it, no conviction; not now that Olive was there and had, in the space of a few minutes, been promoted above their heads. Bertie had a strong sense of justice, and this was now mortally offended. Olive did not deserve to be a sixer; the experience she claimed was completely imaginary – he was sure that she had never been a cub before. And how could Akela be fooled by Olive’s false claims? Why did she not ask Olive exactly what her experience had been and get her to show some proof of it?

Now, with the promise administered and everybody duly enrolled, Akela began to tell the cubs about badges. There were many badges they could get, she explained: collecting, swimming, history, model-making, cooking, music; whole vistas of achievement opened up.

“I’d like to get my cooking badge, Akela,” said Olive. “And music too. And map-reading – I always read the maps in the car. I read the map all the way to Glasgow once, and back again.”

“That’s not hard,” said Tofu. “There’s only one road to Glasgow and it has signs all the way along. It says Glasgow this way. You can’t go wrong.”

“Well, I’m sure Olive read the map very nicely anyway,” said Akela. “And what badge do you boys want to get? Bertie, what about you?”

Bertie looked up. “Mozart,” he said. “If you’ve got a Mozart badge, I could do that, Akela.”

Olive laughed. “Oh, Bertie, they don’t have that sort of thing in the cubs. Why don’t you do a cooking badge with me? I could teach him how to cook, Akela. Then we both could do the badge together.”

“That would be nice,” said Akela. “Would you like that, Bertie?”

Bertie stared down at the floor. His hopes of the cubs were dashed beyond redemption now. He had wanted to learn how to do tracking and how to make a fire by rubbing two sticks together. He wanted to learn how to use a penknife and how to use a wrist watch and the sun to find south. He wanted to learn all that, but instead he was going to be cooking with Olive. Is this really why Mr. Baden-Powell had invented scouting – so that boys could learn how to cook?

“Well,” pressed Akela. “Olive has made you a very kind offer there, Bertie? Would you like to take her up on it?”

Bertie stared at the floor. He felt the tears burning in his eyes, hot tears of regret over the ending of his hopes. Tofu, noticing his friend’s distress, turned to Olive. “You see what you’ve done,” he said. “You see!”

Olive reacted with indignation. “It’s not my fault that Bertie’s homesick,” she said. “He’s only six, after all.”