Unbearable Lightness of Scones

82. Lessons in Leadership

Bertie had now attended two sessions of the First Morningside Cub Scouts in their meeting place in the Episcopal church hall at Holy Corner. The first session had involved a bitter disappointment, when Olive had turned up too. That was bad enough, but her immediate promotion to sixer had made things far worse.

“It’s very unfair,” Bertie had observed to Tofu. “She knows nothing about cub scouts. In fact, Olive knows nothing about anything. She’s the one who said that Glasgow was in Ireland. I remember her saying it.”

“Stupid girl,” said Tofu. He himself was not sure about the location of Glasgow, but he was not going to reveal that. “Girls are really stupid, Bertie. Particularly Olive.”

Bertie, who was fair-minded, felt that he could not let this pass. “They’re not all stupid,” he said. “Look at Miss Harmony. She used to be a girl. And she’s not stupid.”

Tofu looked pensive. “Maybe. But then, look at your mother, Bertie. Look at her.”

Bertie changed the subject. “And she’s going to throw her weight around, now that she’s a sixer. She said that we’re going to have to pull up our socks.”

Olive had issued this warning at an early stage. Indeed, no sooner had Akela gone to deal with another preliminary administrative matter than Olive had turned to Bertie and Tofu and delivered a stern admonition.

“Let’s get one thing clear right at the beginning,” she said. “My six is going to be the best-run and most successful six in the pack. Understand?”

Tofu had glowered. Bertie had looked at the floor.

“So,” Olive continued, “I don’t want any arguing. If I say something is to be done, then it is to be done. And here’s another thing. From now on, you don’t call me by my name, you call me ‘Sixer.’ Is that quite clear?”

Bertie and Tofu had remained silent, but an extremely small boy, diminutive indeed, who had been allocated to their six, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Sixer,” he said.

Olive turned to this small boy. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ranald,” said the boy in a thin, piping voice. “Ranald Braveheart McPherson.”

Bertie and Tofu looked at him in astonishment, but Olive merely nodded. “You can be my assistant, Ranald,” she said.

“You can’t just choose your assistant like that,” protested Tofu. “Akela has to choose.”

“I think Tofu’s right,” agreed Bertie. “I don’t think that sixers have all that much power, Olive.”

Ranald stepped forward, on spindly legs. “We mustn’t argue,” he said. “We mustn’t argue with the sixer.”

This discussion on constitutional arrangements might have continued, but it was time for activities, and for the rest of the session the issue of Olive’s power did not arise. Fortunately, the games played were such as to take Bertie’s mind off the Olive problem, and at the end he decided that it might be possible largely to avoid Olive by simply ignoring her. This expedient, however, did not work so well at the second session, the following week, when Olive had watched Bertie and Tofu closely, criticising their every step and saying that they would have to do better.

“We don’t need to be quite so critical, Olive,” Akela had warned. “A good sixer encourages the others. So you should praise people as well as tell them where they’re going wrong.”

Olive had listened, but her expression was resentful, and Bertie wondered if she had internalised the message. He had read about internalising messages, and he decided that this was something that Olive was not very good at. But such reflections were soon to be abandoned when it was announced that the following Saturday afternoon the entire pack would decamp to the Meadows in order to practise map-reading and navigation skills. Compasses were issued and a fascinating hour was spent in learning how to hold a compass and how to read a map.

Akela explained that each six would be divided into two, so that the members would work in groups of three: one cub would be in charge, one would hold the map, and one would be entrusted with the compass. Bertie glanced at Tofu, who looked back at him in perfect understanding, the unspoken anxiety being: would they be with Olive?

They were not. Olive was allocated to two others, a disconsolate-looking boy and a girl with a startled expression and pigtails, who had not said anything from the moment of her enrolment. Bertie and Tofu both heaved a sigh of relief. But when Akela turned to them, they were informed that Ranald McPherson was to be in charge.

“What about me, Akela?” protested Tofu. “I’m much bigger than he is. Look. He only comes up to here. And look at his stupid legs. He’s too small to be the leader.”

“Tofu dear,” explained Akela. “Leadership is not about size; nor indeed about legs. You don’t have to be big to lead. Look at the Queen. She’s not all that tall and yet she’s a very good leader. Leadership comes from inside.”

“That’s right,” said Olive.

Akela threw a glance at Olive. “And leaders must earn respect,” she continued. “A good leader doesn’t try to push people around too much.”

“See,” said Olive, looking directly at Tofu. “That’s why some people are leaders and some people aren’t.”

There was no time for further discussion, as final arrangements had to be made. When the time came, they would all walk together down Bruntsfield Place and then cross the Links. Once they were safely away from the traffic, on the other side of the Meadows, they would split up into their respective groups and use the maps which had been prepared for them to negotiate their way round the University Library, through the George Square Gardens and back to the Meadows. On their way they would have to note certain features of the landscape and answer questions about them on their return.

That evening, Bertie explained to his mother what was planned. Irene listened grimly.

“A somewhat old-fashioned exercise,” she said when Bertie had finished his account. “In these days of satellite navigation.”