The Little Red Pocket Knife

The other day I was cleaning out a drawer in our bedroom, when I came across something I hadn’t seen in years. It was a little red pocket knife, Swiss army style. Not the chunky one that comes with the all singing and dancing attachments. This was a smaller version but a swiss army nonetheless, as it had the swiss cross emblazoned on it. Seeing this knife again got me thinking and tracing my thoughts back to when I received it. Nowadays one wouldn’t be given a knife of any kind as a prize, but back in 1968 it was deemed a normal thing to do.

I can't believe now that this little knife was given to me in 1968, fifty-five years ago. How innocent we were then. It was Boys Brigade camp time and my company, the 140th, had permanent huts, nestled in a field above Croy Shore, Ayrshire. There were four huts: a large one that was used for sleeping in, a medium sized one which was used for eating in, a smaller one where the cooking facilities were, and an even smaller hut, which was used as a tuck shop.

The field sloped down to a little stream where another small double hut stood. This was the latrine, surrounded by vegetation and trees. There was no lighting on this site and on a dark rainy night a trip to the latrine was an expedition all of its own. From the field a small path led into the shrubbery and a few hundred yards away there came into view another hut. This was named “Coopers Hut” in memoriam to a past Captain of the 140th, Captain Cooper, who used it in times gone by.

The huts were not always water-tight but they were for the most part. The sleeping hut had metal beds stacked inside, the old type with metal springs. Insects loved this hut as in the winter months the local farmer stored tatties and neeps in it. Every spring a group went down to sweep out the dirt and dust and wildlife. We slept on these beds with their pitiful excuse for mattresses. But we had sleeping bags so it wasn’t too bad. For us youngsters it was an adventure. I still recall the smells in the dining hut, mainly of plain bread, porridge and beans. Also the hiss of the tilley lamp as we gathered together of an evening for evening prayers or to listen to the radio. They were simple days with no washing facilities for us or the dishes. There is nothing more likely to wake you in the morning than by washing outdoors. A great leveller was washing the porridge pot outdoors – invigorating to say the least!

The summer of 1968 was the last time that our crowd was present at “The Huts”. Hippies were in full throw, I remember buying a yellow straw hat and wearing it until it fell apart. One night we gathered round the radio situated in the dining hut listening to the news with shock as we heard that the former U.S.S.R had invaded the former Czechoslovakia. A sobering and thoughtful night as we sat in silence with only the hissing of the Tilley Lamp.

We had fun as well of course. That year it was decided there would be a “Treasure Hunt”. The leaders had placed clues throughout the countryside and we had to run and find them. We were split into groups of two and were handicapped by setting us off at a few minutes’ interval. In our pair I was the fastest distance runner and I caught the previous group before they reached the first clue. The trail of clues took us along the beach, up through country lanes, along the main road – thankfully the traffic was less in those days.

A clue was discreetly hidden in a field gate on a stretch of road called “Penny Glen”. We had to move bushes and brambles out of the way to find it. This led to a clue hidden in a copse of trees centrally situated in a field. Unbeknown to us a small herd of heifers were also rooting about in this copse. Their interest soon centered on us and despite being tired from running, it amazed us where our speed came from as they chased us out of there. It was a very warm day and soon the t-shirts were off. After a while I looked at myself and recoiled; our bodies were covered in tiny black flies. Thankfully, they were harmless and went by the name of Corn Flies. At the end of the race we found that we had won and later that day we were presented with the red pocket knives.

Many of that era will remember carrying a small pocket knife of one sort or another. My grandfather, like many pipe smokers, carried a small one to cut up the tobacco. I still have that one. Gardeners, fishermen also carried a small knife as did hikers and outdoor types. Nowadays thanks to a small minority it is illegal to carry one, only if it is intended for nefarious purposes, but I still think there is a place for a small pocket knife. Mine brought back many happy memories of a more innocent but thoroughly enjoyable time.