Children of the ’60s, such as myself, grew up on a diet of Boy’s Own adventures. The stuff you ‘d read in Tiger and Lion comic annuals, the many war comics of the day, even Famous Five books — if you get my drift. They were simpler times, not necessarily better, but most things seemed more certain than they do in the present day.
Part of that era for me was that Auckland’s North Shore in the mid ’60s was an undeveloped paradise of gravel roads, pine forests, paddocks and bush — a mecca for day-long adventures with your mates out in the wilderness. Back then, there were zero concerns about releasing children into the countryside to learn about the great outdoors. With the rash of constraints foisted upon us by the contemporary nanny state, the closest kids get to those experiences these days is online — but that’s another story.
Back to the ’60s, and what was considered to be one of the pillars for developing a boy’s character was that great bastion of the British Empire — the Boy Scout movement. Created by a noble chap, Lord Baden-Powell, at the start of the 20th century, the main premise of the movement was the idea of enhancing ‘real’ masculine traits. It was thought that the emancipated urban culture that had mushroomed in the years directly following the Great War was gradually eroding the qualities of young manhood. No fear, Baden Powell was there to stop the rot!
Forgetting the military uniform and discipline thing for a moment — some of which could be deemed debatable — being a Boy Scout offered one big plus: adventure with your mates. I took to it like a parched man discovering a pub in the desert.
Everything suddenly got even better in the winter of 1970 with the arrival of a young and enthusiastic new scout leader — and he turned out to be a hard-core thrill-seeker himself. He was none other than famed hot
