The Boys on the Island

Some nights, I dream I'm back on Brownsea Island. I see myself running among the tents, fretting about being late. I head right over the flagpole, where the flag that flew at the siege of Mafeking flutters. Once again, I'm fourteen. Standing around are the members of the four patrols: Bulls, Wolves, Ravens and Curlews. Each patrol leader holds his respective pennant. My mates looked quite serious. They're queued perfectly for the Chief's arrival. Right away, I take my spot in the Bull Patrol. I'm a bit embarrassed about being late, but the patrol leader didn't give me an earful. He just moved over a bit to make room for me. An eerie glow about us: it doesn't seem like early dawn light, but it isn't dusk either. Then we hear the sound of the kudu horn -a hoarse, deep wail that sounds loud throughout the island- announcing the arrival of our Chief, Baden-Powell, who advanced toward us trailed by his little nephew Donald and his assistant, Major McLaren. The three walk under a cloudless sky. When the General is right in front of us, we snap to attention and give a military salute. He smiles pleased and says: "I am proud of you. I would like to tell you that it was a great honour to be your Chief. The short time that we spent together here was one of the best of my life and I hope it was likewise yours. I am sure that a hundred years from now people shall still remember and talk about the time we spent in this place with the same emotion that we bring to mind with this great military feat". I'm quite moved by what our Chief just said, but also by the fact of just being here once again, after so long. The general comes to inspect us. He looks serious and pleased at the same time. A light sea breeze from the bay delicately rustles the tree branches, fluttering the streamers we have sewn on our shoulders and caressing our faces. The kudu horn sounds again and, ever so slowly, I awaken.