# Boy Scouts and What They Do/Ivy Cottage

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"Ivy Cottage," where the Scouts turned chaos into order.
"Ivy Cottage." Mending chairs, adjusting window sashes, repairing electric lamps
Ivy Cottage.
This was a dwelling which caused the careful housewife to gasp when fist her eye fell upon it. The chairs were broken; the windows smashed, the gas mantles damaged, the electric wires fused, the window sashes would not work, the blinds had gone wrong, the crockery was broken, the door-lock was out of order, and nothing was right that could be wrong!
But at a signal a Patrol of Scouts were turned loose into the cottage.
It was wonderful what a change came over the scene. The Patrol Leader took a glance round and told off each of his Scouts for a definite job.
* One mended the chairs;
* Another, with glass-cutter and putty knife, glazed the broken window;
* A third set to work with screw-driver and pliers and repaired the damaged lock;
and so on.
They hammered and screwed, twisted and glued, until, in about half-an-hour, the whole place was ship-shape.
'How was it these boys could do all these things?
The secret lay in the little round badge on their arm depicting a hammer and paint-brush crossed—the "Handyman's Badge."
To earn this a Scout must be able to paint a door or bath, whitewash a ceiling, repair gas fittings, ball cocks, tap washers, sash lines, window and door fastenings, replace gas mantles and electric light bulbs, hang pictures and curtains, ​repair blinds, fix curtain and portiere rods, blind fixtures, lay carpets, mend clothing and upholstery, do small furniture and china repairs, and sharpen knives.
How do they learn?
"To answer that one cannot do better than to quote from an article written by Mr. Basil Clarke in the "Daily Mail" of October 9th, 1913. It describes the work of the special classes that are held to teach Scouts such things, and is entitled:—
"Making a Handyman."
He was outwardly a normal boy—round and cheery—and he whistled as he walked. But he was a new type of boy none the less.
I wanted to get from a certain north-eastern suburb of Manchester to another which is across the fields and more to the north, and I asked him the way. He answered: "It's not very easy to find. You must go by the lane. I'd better draw you a map."
With that he produced a pencil and a bit of paper. "We're here," he said, "at the school,"" and he made a square on the paper. From that point he drew me an excellent field map. "Here's the tannery. Here's the match works. Here you cross the River Irk," and so on past the chemical works, the weaving shed, the fishing pond, and the workhouse, and to my destination.
And then, with something of an artist's pride in his work, he drew a little "north point" in the corner of the map and handed it to me.
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Scout Carpenters.
Sea Scout Exhibits.
It is an extraordinary sight to walk into a classroom and see from thirty to forty small boys looking eagerly on while a teacher cuts up beef steak or neck of mutton, potatoes and vegetables for a camp stew. In this class they learn how to light a fire, which is not always the simple task it sounds; how to make "damper" of flour and water as they make it in the Australian bush; how to prepare and cook a rabbit, or a hotpot, or a soup. Forty boys attend this camp cookery class every week.
Then there is the leather workers' class, which, oddly is even more popular than the camp cookery class. It has an attendance of nearly 100 boys a week. Here they teach a boy to sole and heel his own boots, to patch a split boot, to make a leather hinge, to repair anything from a stirrup leather to a school-bag. ◇◇
Pioneers and Pathfinders.
The "pioneer" class, again, comprises many boyish delights. Here you may see small boys solemnly "cutting ​down a tree" in the school yard or in the classroom. The tree is a length of telegraph pole, maybe, sunk into a round hole in a gigantic block of wood. Or you may see them building a model bridge of thin three-foot rods and string. When they have got the intricacies of that model fully into their heads they will go out into the country and build a real bridge, perhaps across a stream, with real poles and real rope.
Of the pathfinder class the chief work is map-reading and drawing, route-sketching to guide a stranger, and learning the entire geography of the district. These boys go out on Saturdays with compass and chain learning the elements of surveying. Or they visit, say, the Ship Canal and learn all that Manchester's shipping means to the place. Any of these boys will tell you in an instant where is the nearest place to get a doctor or a motor-car, a telephone or a fire alarm; how many horses there are in the district and who owns them; what time the local post office shuts and where you can get a telegram away after this office has shut.
The swimming and life-saving classes attract some 130 boys a week; the "ambulance and nursing" classes nearly as many. To watch small boys making beef-tea for invalids, gruel for toothless grannies, milk and barley water for babies, might make one smile were it not for their immense seriousness in these tasks. I was assured that many of the members of this class do really valuable work in homes of invalids where comforts and means are few.
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Some of the Buckhurst Boys. These strapping lads with their tanned arms and faces came from the Scout Farm, where they are taught farming in all its branches.
The Camp Model, made by the Wolverhampton Scouts.
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"The Daily Scout"The Compositors at work.
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Printing the "Daily Scout."
A Growing Movement.
Of all the many points that struck me as novel and good in a tour of this remarkable night school the chief one was the keenness of the boys to attend such classes. They come voluntarily, of course, and in their own time, and pay a shilling for each class they attend. Some of the boys are still attending day school. Others are at work. For some of the classes, there are more applicants than vacancies, and in view of this fact, the Manchester City Council have lately decided to hold similar classes in a different part of the city—for one school for handy-men is proving quite insufficient for Manchester's needs. And when one sees schoolboys, especially in working-class districts, yawning drearily through geometry lessons and the like and rushing eagerly, even in their leisure hours, to classes in cookery, joinery, and handymanship, it makes one wonder whether these subjects might not with value be substituted for some of the more elaborate things a working-class boy is now taught—as a rule only to forget. For after all, it is these homely, useful arts rather than geometry that are likely to fall in his path in later life.
"The Daily Scout."
The Printer Scouts, by way of showing their practical knowledge, edited, printed, and sold a daily paper for the week. They had their staff of reporters, editor, sub-editors, compositors, machinists and sellers, who all worked hard and produced a most creditable little news-sheet. "The Daily Scout" was sold for a penny, and went like "hot cakes." The supply was often unequal to the demand, and so keen were people to obtain copies, that enterprising speculators are said to have resold copies at a profit of 1,100%. One of the "Daily Scout" reporters, by the way, was offered three good positions by different people who had watched him at work. Nor was this the only case of its sort, for various cute employers looked round, and picked up some very promising lads for their works and offices, giving them positions from which they had every prospect of rising rapidly. ◇◇
Scout Clerks.
Coming from part of the hall was the incessant click of the typewriters. It was the clerks' section where Scouts were being put through their paces for the various qualifications necessary to win this badge.
To pass for it a Scout must pass a test in handwriting, handprinting, typewriting (or as an alternative to typewriting, shorthand), writing a letter from memory on a subject given verbally five minutes previously, and simple book-keeping.
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The Clerks' Section.
The Prehistoric Scout on the War-path.
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The Camp Kitchens.
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The Carpenters' Exhibits.
The head of the section was away snatching a few moments for a well-earned meal, when an "important personage" hove in sight, inspecting the various boys at work as he went along. An official hurried up, and pointed out to the man who had been left in charge, that there was an empty typewriter, and that somebody ought to be at work there.
When the "important personage" appeared on the scene, there was a small Scout about twelve years of age, working away on this typewriter at a furious rate, typing about 120 words a minute.
The distinguished personage looked at the boy with some wonder, and passed on, much impressed by the Clerks' section. The inquisitive official, however, went round behind the typewriter to see whether the boy was as accurate as he was speedy, and found that his manuscript read somewhat as follows:—
   2¾3-4959 8 uvuyiyoypy yyoFFGHJKIUanandndjfugut gut tavjvu u a.xtdqpworituCCCCCdhN dndhfht thtbe thtbebtht ehtbtheht thh