Magyar Cserkész, 1929 (10. évfolyam, 14. szám)
1929-07-15 / 14. szám
No. 14. MAGYAR CSERKÉSZ 297 FROM A SCOUT’S DIARY July 6th, 1921. We got up very early in the morning. The „Thrushes" (the thrush was the sign-bird of the troop) run in a hurry in the direction of the scout-home. I also rushed in, about 3/45 o’clock. Some boys have been already there, chiefly, who slept in the home. Rev. Jandik (the Scoutmaster) just said the mass; we went to the big hall, where our luggages were stored. The bags layed on the gallery in the background. The boys started to discuss the most important problems, some of them critisized the luggages, others talked about the camping prospects, the rest watched from the balcony the newcomers. Usetti and Patyi (nicknames) started to play the piano. The time advanced, it was just 5 o'clock. A horse-waggon, destined to transport our luggages to the railwaystation, was eagerly expected. He played with our nerves and did not come. Finally we sent out two explorers and they found the old carriage. Everything was thrown up within a second, we have driven out and caught the train in the last minute. The time for crying and for saying a farewell was here, the engine whistled and the trains started to move. Our parents and friends (poor boys, who had to stay in the town) nodded us, we waved our hats, flags and the train carried us to Miskolc. We stopped at a big lumber-plant, where a narrow-track railway is used. Here we had again troubles. The soldiers of the city promised to furnish us with straw and rugs, but the straw delayed two hours. We carried the hairy rugs from Miskolc to the small railway’s station. The cars of this small railway are excellent. Their system is Pullmann, the maximum weight, which can be loaded, is about 12.000 Kg. Finally we started. Uncle Draskovich, the chief-forester, as the full authorized monarch of the forest, warned us to take the seats proportionally, otherwise our excellent train could collapse. The train continued its route and we saw from far the chimneys of Diósgyőr. This region conceals marvelous natural beauties. The side trees of the forest are very decorative with all variations of the green, the view of the forest is just majes-Fatrol-camp. örsi tábor. tic with its inpenetrability. And the sunshine throws light in some places upon the dark green clearings. The railroad line continues here among the masses of rock, through enormously large explosion places. The power of the dynamite discovers the secrets of the compilation of the mountain. Underneath, at the foot of the mountain greets us the big Hämor-lake, green like the sea, one of the nicest summer-resorts in Hungary. The train runs here only some yards far from the gorge, the view is divine but shuddering. ... The boys are very silent after the day’s rush. Enchanted by the natural wonders. We do not sing at all. We arrive. The train stops near a gravel heap and we take off our luggage. The train leaves, we remain there, in the loneliness, in the cool forest where the silence of the night is only disturbed by the purling of the small brook. Go on to work: we must sleep to-night. We carry everything, except some very heavy stuff, using a steep, slippery path. We leave the straw below for first night. After we climbed to the first plateau, we investigated the place and found, that we had to move to the second, higher plateau. It was already dark. Under the surrounding trees it was pitch-dark, storm-The more we are together ... Víg élet, szép élet.. . clouds run across the sky. The forest whispered mysteriously and the night was very chilly. We had to use our lamps. Nevertheless one of the big tents was pitched before dusk. We found hardly the suitable place for it. The soil was quite wet. It was raining yesterday. Our shoes become muddy. It is too late and we stop work. The belltent was pitched easily, the boys carry up mattlasses, which are laid on water-proof canvass. We dine in pitch-dark. The night becomes steadily colder, we are covered with rugs, but cold milk does not give a good heating. In 'the tent, where I slept, everybody finds easily his place. The night guards take their posts. The inhabitants of the other tent are singing a religious song. Then, little by little the very exhaustion closes our eyes and we reach the silent land of the sleep. July 7th, 1921. I was awaken by the extremely strong, blinding sunshine. The beams penetrate through the tent’s canvass, the old sun is standing very high and light the valley. The nature was fresh. The long road on the left side of our clearing was glittering in the sunshine. It seemed, that the whole nature is revived and the thoughts of the last night disappeared. We washed in the cold water of the brook, which was really refreshing. The water is here very Yarn. A kaland. cold, because it comes from ice-cold springs. Then we pitched the tents on their definite spots. On both sides of the entrance two big tents are placed, close to one another. Behind them are the kitchen and the dining room ; in the back-ground the round tent for the pantry and for storage. In the middle of the camp we erect the flagg-staff and the altar. First, we had after the morning prayer, our breakfast, of course. Then tents were pitched, the camp kitchen was constructed with clay and bricks. At noon we had already our warm lunch. The afternoon brought us smaller jobs. Some boys had a swim in the brook, because it was so warm. Before dinner we collected some fire-wood for camp-fire. The camp-fire is our love, it is so nice, to look at the red flames, at the sparkling brand, to feel the warm patting of the fire. It is much better now, than it was last cold night. Some of the greenhorns think, it is fashionable to slumber at the camp-fire. But only the body can have the repose, the spirit must be fresh and active at the fire. The sky with the innumerable millions of stars is looking at us, listening to our songs. We just listen the cracking of the sparkling wood. I admire the fire and understand, why it was worshipped. It conceals entirely different qualities: it ruins, kills, never constructs and yet, it is our treasure, grant of God, without which we could not exist in our terrestrial life. The red of the fire is turning pale ; the whistle of the Scoutmaster calls us. We go to the altar and have the night prayer. The camp-fire is symbolizing the family, the common life, the brotherhood. We must obey the campfire : we must be brothers. Brothers of all scouts and of everybody, who is our brother. Three Songs of the Hungarian Boy Scouts ! ! THREE HUNGARIAN FOLK SONGS for Violin and Piano by LAJOS BÁRDOS Price 3/6 Oxford University Press, London Amen House, Warwick Square, E. C. 4.
