Hey Blog! Two weeks ago on Friday, I went off on another expedition, for my Silver Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, and seeing as this counts as education and is a fantastic thing to do with one’s time, what should I do but relate it all to you?

Silver DofE: three days, two nights, one very heavy rucksack. Between four and seven participants, aged fourteen to twenty-five, sleeping in tents and walking, or riding, sailing, canoeing, or indeed any other method of transport if you’ve cleared it with your instructor first, for seven hours a day. That’s the basic numbers. How far you travel depends on how fast you go, but the campsites are planned in advance based on how far you think you can manage and how far apart they are. You must complete it in the full time, because if you get in early you might be told to walk around the campsite for an hour, with bags. Which is painful and pointless. As quite fast walkers, our group was having to slow down and take long lunch breaks to not finish early. Oh, and you have to sleep in cold, usually wet tents, cook your own food, and there aren’t generally good shower facilities; if there are they certainly aren’t just across the corridor, they’ll be on the other side of a cold, damp, dark field. On paper, it doesn’t sound appealing, but actually, it’s a lot of fun!

For our expedition, there were six of us. We travelled a loop, from Edale south to Wardlow north again to Hope and finally returning to Edale. The first day was the longest – more than 18km – decreasing by a couple of km each day. Thankfully, the hardest part was also on the first day. After leaving the train station, our meeting point, and climbing uphill, we were at the ridgeline between the Hope and Edale valleys when we had to make a detour due to the strength of the wind – more wind than I’ve ever felt while out walking. It was probably a good plan, because no one liked being blown across the path and walking face first into horizontal rain, and one of the group had a recently twisted ankle; we learned later that our assessor would have asked us to change the route in the conditions. The problem arose when we re-entered the wind… and most of us fell over. I was able to keep my footing, but couldn’t move, and it took a while for all of us to get down to a safer location. We were all happy when the assessor arrived to clarify our new route and provide some tips for staying upright in the wind.

A detour into Castleton and some lunch later, and we were off up Cave Dale. Very imaginative names, because Castleton has a massive castle above it – Peveril Castle, built by the De Ferrers family, who owned all the land about here, a gift from William the Conqueror – and it overlooks the dale, which has numerous little caves in the side of it. Turning left at the top of the steep (!) path, we managed to get lost… and I was helping with the map reading. In my defence, there was limited signage and we were in a valley bottom so looking for landmarks wasn’t really possible. It was a very small detour and we were back on track in a few minutes. But everyone had tired feet and we still had half the day to go. A long walk, with several twists and turns (which I was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to remember the name of, even if the directions are stored and I could do from memory) got to Wardlow, and we could finally rest for a night. Even if it was dark, cold, and wet from the moment the tents had gone up, before we could cook. The sky looked nice though.

In the morning, we were up and off again. Quick preparation, pack up sleeping bags and tents, breakfast, and walking. We were very fast at this point, covering 60% of the day’s walk in less than three hours, and checking out the correct pronunciation of the place called Eyam, where they had the plague in 1666, the same year as the Great Fire of London. Various disasters happen together, it seems! The village survived, after self-isolating at the behest of the local vicar, and it’s pronounced “Eem like stream” according to the lady at the bus stop, who had the look of having been asked plenty of times before! We stopped for a long lunch by a woodland stream, and then made our way up hill for the final, short bit to campsite 2. On the way, we crossed the path of my Bronze DofE expedition, so I knew the area. Which you aren’t supposed to, but that’s not of paramount importance.

Campsite two had that rare thing on public campsites – good showers! A good plan to use them, because then you don’t need to drive home with the windows open. They’ll also take the tension out of you after a long day walking. We were awake enough this time to play cards in the tent before going to bed, which was nice.

The last day had the best weather, the steepest downhill, and the best views. We went over the ridgeline, and over a moor with loads of little, fast-flowing becks that proved a challenge to navigate with a full backpack. Especially when the drop beside you is twenty feet or more. It was truly fantastic, even if very dehydrated – no water stops, and none provided by the assessor. But the landscape made up for it, and though we were all thoroughly exhausted by the time we’d got down to the station, it was such an experience. Somehow, we still managed to smile for photos when we got to the end!

Now there’s just a presentation and a bit more running for me, before I get the Silver level award. I’m looking forward to it!

Hey Blog! Today’s post is about a slightly crazy event that I went to a few weekends back. It’s the Wirksworth Wizarding Day.

Harry Potter – one of the best-selling series of all time, about – spoiler alert – Harry Potter. He has many names, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the young wizard who vanquishes the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. Incidentally, just because it’s language and fun and I’ve been waiting to tell you, vol de mort means “flight of death” in French – which is a pretty good description of the power-hungry, death-obsessed evil wizard. Harry Potter, his nemesis, is the only one able to defeat him, which happens in the seventh book of the series, the one I haven’t read yet. But, having read all six others, I know enough to understand and enjoy the festival that was inspired by the books and, in part, the local magic of Wirksworth, which is just across the valley. Surprisingly, we’d never attended the festival, so as my cousins were coming to stay for the weekend, we thought we’d go and see what there was on show.

You may have realised that I will take almost any excuse to wear a cloak. Or bright purple trousers (thank you again for that charity shop find, Mum!). However, even in green, purple, and black, and with a wand up my sleeve, alone among my family to go remotely close to the dress sense of wizards, I was remarkably underdressed for some people there. I guess I don’t have the time or money to spend on elaborate embroidered outfits… maybe one day. I was relieved, however, that I blended in without too much difficulty, as I doubt Dad would ever normally go round with me in such a get-up. The trousers did look good though.

As usual for a local market/festival/excuse for a day out, there were the full assortment of stalls selling everything from cakes to crystals, 3D printed nicknacks to witchy looking bric-a-bracs. And a lot of Harry Potter themed stuff, all over; they had a (for the time being, terrestrial and stationary) Ford Anglia, the type of car that flies and chases away giant spiders. If you’ve let Ron’s dad tinker with it. Does he do Ford Focuses? We could do with skipping some queues if so! There were Dementors wandering around town every now and then, the tall, black, spectral, hooded things that feed on happy thoughts and souls if they get too close. Every window had a display, be it piles of spellbooks and broomsticks or robes and pumpkins – even one which was full of Lego recreations of parts of Hogwarts. I didn’t buy anything – it was tempting, there were piles of interesting little silver and gold ornaments, exquisite stones and a selection of potion bottles which were very fun indeed, but strictly speaking, I didn’t need them, and I was there to spend time with my cousins really. However, the atmosphere was very good and it might be nice to go next year when I’ve learnt a few more spells… I’ll have to see!

Hey Blog! An unusual one here, because it’s not often I talk about gardens. Not being in gardens, or gardening, just gardens. But a couple of weeks ago I visited one, in particular RHS Bridgewater, which I thought would make an interesting post.

The garden is on the opposite side of the Peak District, so it was quite a drive to get there and back. I have never been to a garden like it before, it’s always been part of going round a historic house. The Eden Project or Lost Gardens of Helligan in Cornwall comes close, but that’s a restored garden and I was more interested in the Arthurian legend next door. It was also a very long time ago and I don’t remember all of it, just a few trees and the rope bridge and a walled garden or two.

We visited with my grandparents, who were staying with us for a few days; Grandad had donated to the garden when it was set up so he’d wanted to check his investment in a way. This garden is a new one, and bits of it are still under construction; it may be on the site of an old hall, but that has since been demolished. Almost as good a use as a Scout campsite which can be dug up later. I doubt, however, that the Royal Horticultural Society would appreciate an excavation – though if the request was phrased as help to replace some compost…

Jokes aside, it’s a really nice garden. I especially liked the middle eastern style garden and the lake. And the café. There was plenty of wildlife, including a dragonfly that kept coming back, too fast for a very good photo of course but I did get something with it in. Perhaps the closest the wildlife got was when a very large brown moth (though brown doesn’t do it justice, it was a thousand shades of brown and more) landed on the back of Dad’s coat while we were having lunch. I rescued it to take outside, and it promptly flew off my hand without getting through the door, so I hope it stayed safe. The whole place was an explosion of life; after the hot weather of the summer, and with so many plants, animals, and humans in one place it was very nice indeed.

Most times when you, or at least I, see a garden, the first impression is of natural beauty, the second is of global plants brought to a single garden, the third is wondering if there’s a hidden pattern behind the planting, and fourth is realising that the garden goes on and on and on. I’ve no idea how many gardeners it takes to construct and maintain such a garden, especially as to keep it fully foliaged throughout the year requires several turnovers of vegetation. Generally I prefer as natural, as native a garden as possible, and usually with a patchwork of trees, but Bridgewater is more like a landscape-sized dictionary of plants, and I can see the appeal in that. However, it’s more than a classification system with all the trees here and all the plants in the genus plantus, shrubius, or flowerii together. It’s about building an ecosystem in miniature. And while this snowglobe-y effect may seem unnatural, it’s more natural to the species to have plants from the same biome together than to throw them together in how we see them. Whether or not singing to plants helps them grow, putting them in an environment they recognise certainly will. This garden has been very well done. I may consider revisiting, or going to something similar!

Hey Blog! A few days ago, I went to our local vineyard to pick some grapes and make wine. I thought I’d let you know how it went.

It’s been two fact check: three years since I last picked grapes, and though I wrote about it then (Home Ed at the Harvest, 2023), that was only the picking. Now, I’m a bit taller and can keep going a bit longer, and I have a better understanding of wine, having tried to make some from our own three vines last year (it’s still in bottles, but we’re not sure how good it is). These changes are some help, except height, because looking for grapes which are growing low down means bending over and walking like that along the row of vines. Painful next morning. At least this year the wasps weren’t as bad, so no one got stung. The grapes were mostly good looking and there weren’t that many rotten ones, thankfully, so less to sort through and get rid of.

You pick grapes with secateurs, along long rows of vines that are probably held up by wire and sometimes covered with netting to stop the birds snaffling them all. It’s productive work, as you can often fill two crates per row. Once that’s done, you’re rather hungry and in need of some lunch, so it’s back to the centre of operations to do that. And drink some of last year’s wine, or sniff it if the legalities dictate that 16 year olds can’t.

But, what I couldn’t tell you before is how to make wine. Now I can! You need a lot of grapes to make any quantity of it, which is why it’s a good idea to do all your picking before lunch, so you can spend the afternoon at a press doing the making. In theory, it’s quite simple, you squeeze grapes, juice comes out, you leave juice and it turns into something that makes you tipsy. Well, the chemical bit I learnt about in science last year, because you are converting C₆H₁₂O₆ (glucose) into C₂H₄OH (ethanol). A sugar into alcohol reaction is done by utilising the natural anaerobic processes of the tiny fungus yeast, the same stuff used for bread and beer. As the saying found on bottle openers and t-shirts goes, fermentation and civilisation are inseparable. As yeast respires, it makes alcohol and CO₂, the global warming gas and what gives champagne all those bubbles. Then, due to a lack of sugars as they have all been used up, the yeast dies off and you have a bottle of wine. How, though, does the yeast and glucose get in there in the first place?

Well, you need the grape juice first. Remove the stalks from the grapes, using (if you have one) a special destalker (even after examining one I still can’t work out how it works!). Next, a large metal drum with holes in, and a thick canvas bag like the kind used for jam, is needed. Put the stalkless grapes into this, and fold the top over before pressing down on top. The juice will run out the holes, off the tray it’s sitting on, and into a bucket. You might want a sieve in there to stop any skin bits. Keep pressing on the top – using a car jack to exert more pressure is so fun! Once the first lot of juice is fully squeezed out, add more grapes and repeat.

What I learnt by following this process at the vineyard – grape juice tastes awesome! It’s sweet and you can taste the flavour of the wine without any of the regulations surrounding underage drinking. Also, the system’s a lot more hygienic than the use of bare Roman feet, as was done in the past, when you use a sterilised press. In addition, I realised it’s easy enough to make, and you get to use some funky tools. I can see how you could adapt the press to make it useable on grapes if it was designed for something else, like a metal cutting or drill press, so if and when I get myself a workshop, I could expand into winemaking as well. As far as I’m aware, you can’t sell or buy wine under 18, but I don’t think you’re forbidden to make it. Hmmm. I’ll see you next time!

Hey Blog! I seem to be making a habit of writing about different types of making, because this is on the subject of stained glass. Not something I’ve done before, but something I have now tried and found is rather beautiful!

Stained glass is just that – glass, stained different colours, and arranged into a pretty pattern. Simple in theory, but difficult in practice. Rather like a mosaic. And it isn’t just like your normal window glass, this is specially prepared in all sorts of colours, some of it with patterns on the surface to refract the light. While it all used to be very difficult to make by hand – and still is – this is all done by machine now, allowing those who use it to concentrate on arranging and decorating with it.

The trick is to cut the glass and then stick the bits together, which is tricky, because while glass can melt and fuse – if you’ve ever seen a melted bottle from where a fire was you’ll know – it needs a lot of heat and that is not very practical. Looking at church windows, you’ll see little grey lines, like crazy paving, from the outside. These are between the pieces of glass to stick them together, and are made of lead. Pb, atomic number 82. Poisonous if ingested. Nowadays, we use solder, which is a mixture of tin and lead; they’re both in the same group (column) of the periodic table, so share properties, which makes them ideal to use together. The thing about lead or solder is that it melts at a low temperature, and sticks to other metals, though not aluminium – might need to investigate that. But it does stick to copper, and it is copper that I used for the pieces I made.

The steps to make stained glass are as follows: come up with a design, then find which pieces of glass suit it and score along the lines you want to cut. Use a funky tool which bends the glass along the score line to snap the piece into shape, and then round the sharp edges produced by the snap with abrasive pads. Make sure to do this in water or you will produce glass dust, which is like fibreglass and will stick in your lungs, causing long term harm if inhaled over a long period. Clean the glass with soap and keep your fingers off the edges, which need to be very clean to stick. Prepare a length of copper tape – like the stuff used to keep slugs off the garden – and stick it round the glass. Do this to two or three pieces, and you’re ready to attach them.

Soldering is the riskiest and hardest part. Hot soldering irons are good at melting solder to stick to the copper tape, but can also melt fingers if held too near. Be sure to add plenty of flux – a mixture that removes impurities from metal – on the soldering iron, and the copper tape. Simply pick up a bead of solder and dab it on to the join between two pieces of glass, then leave it for a second until it’s cooled and fused. Repeat and run the iron along to make a smooth join. Keep going as many times as necessary to make the design you want. It’s rather complicated.

Remember I said that you see the grey lines from the outside? That’s because from the inside, your attention is captured by the colours seen through the glass. It’s still transparent, and therefore should be hung in front of a light source – preferably a window – to show best effect. And there’s another little craft that I’ve had some experience in. Wonder which one’s next?

Hey Blog! I’ve decided to write this post about one of the best chances I have had this year – one that keeps going and getting better with every week!

It was a very long time ago that I told you about making my own poker at High Peak Junction. As in, three years ago. But. I have returned – and it’s all thanks to an advert which asked for young people interested in heritage and blacksmithing, who would be keen to undertake a volunteer apprenticeship in blacksmithing at the forge. Obviously, this was right up my street. Exactly. Therefore, I applied – along with 44 other people, apparently, and made it to the interview stage. I evidently carried myself well through the interview, because I got one of only two places. I can’t remember what I told them at this stage, but it seems the blacksmith and admin person from the council both liked what I had to say.

I should say at this point, the forge is run by the council after they took over the historic buildings of the Cromford and High Peak Railway after it was dissolved. The forge is in the oldest surviving railway workshop in the world, as we tell all visitors – there is a workshop in Wales which is the oldest in continuous use, but ours is the oldest building; it predates the railways themselves. The notch cut in the keystone of the front door was made to allow steam engine funnels to enter the building, because when the doorway was made, there were no steam trains! The building itself is full of a thousand little quirks that make working there a delight, even without getting to hit things with hammers!

There isn’t time for the technicalities of blacksmithing, and even if there was, I’m still only an apprentice. For all my top grade in chemistry, it doesn’t cover the full details of ironworking – and obviously not how it feels to work with in the hand. STOP DON’T TOUCH I didn’t mean hold literally red-hot metal in the hand. You hold that bit with tongs. Incidentally, I prefer the old style tongs to the modern mole grips; they clamp better and are longer so you don’t get as hot. They rely on your holding them rather than a grip you can’t regulate. The old blacksmiths knew what worked and what they were doing! We’ve even discussed doing a few weeks of toolmaking, following in the tradition of the previous smiths to work at the forge, who made most of the tools hanging up in the workshop. However, our only attempt at that – with an old campervan spring, which should be tool-grade steel – failed, probably because of flaws in the metal created over the 30 years it kept the campervan driving.

The rambling above is an accurate representation, on a smaller scale, of the diversity of our conversations at the forge – me, Tony the official blacksmith, and Michael, the other young person who got a place, who it turns out I knew already… because he’s also on the Derbyshire Scout Archaeology Youth Committee! Tony was also a Scout leader some years ago, so with three people engaged in Scouting, who love ironworking, are interested in history and heritage, and hold intriguing bits of knowledge which spills out into conversation, it’s amazing fun. We’ve started laughing over things like “the four way puff”: what happens when you quench a square bar of steel slowly, and the steam comes shooting out from the four faces as it goes in; we’ve discussed the prices for pirate body parts lost in combat; realised that our names fit with the main characters from a TV series neither of us young people has watched called Knight Rider; and there’s always a handshake at the start and end of the day. I love it.

Another exciting chance has also come through this, and it’s just arrived in the local paper. The only time I’ve read the Derby Telegraph is to see this article, but it’s a good one – detailing our activities at the forge, with some good and some goofy pictures. At least the flat cap looks good in them! I suggest you give it a read, at https://www.derbytelegraph.co.uk/news/derby-news/meet-derbyshire-teenagers-keeping-age-11141811.

As it says, the position lasts for a year. So there’ll be plenty more sessions in the forge, learning to make different things! I can’t wait!

Hey Blog! Here’s a post about an art exhibition that’s currently on near me, which focuses on one artist known for light, shadow, and dramatic paintings: Joseph Wright of Derby.

Not Left of Derby. Nor even Right of Derby. Wright of Derby was a famous painter in the late 1700s, a contemporary of Richard Arkwright (the mill owner, spinning machine inventor, and richest commoner in England) and painted his ‘official’ portrait, the one that is seen in all the posters. Wright also painted Erasmus Darwin (grandfather of the famous Charles), local gentry, and various landscapes of mills and nature. He led a very interesting life, visiting Italy (like all gentlemen of the age, who went on the Grand Tour) and being inspired by Vesuvius in particular. Learning in London from fashionable portraitists, he lived at the time of the founding of the Royal Academy, the start of the ‘golden age’ of British painting, and was apprenticed to the same painter who taught Joshua Reynolds, the Academy’s first president. Though later in life his paintings took a more reflective tone, with thicker brushstrokes and a concentration on unusual scenes, his greatest talent, employed throughout his artistic career, was something called tenebrism. Coming from the Italian word meaning darkness (in the senses of mood, knowledge, and absence of light all), this style makes darkness the defining, focal feature of the painting. It describes a style where shadow is just as important as light to make the artwork stand out, which is what Wright is famous for.

If you look at some of Wright’s paintings, like Bird in an Air Pump or The Orrery, then you can see how the use of shadow impacts the work. Darker examples, like The Gladiator and The Alchemyst, have darkness taking up most of the frame, and highlight the few bits of light that are seen. The best way to get an idea of his paintings and idiosyncrasies would be to go to the exhibition that’s on in Derby Museum and Art Gallery at the moment, which I can recommend!

One of the things I like about the current exhibit is that it is neither too small, containing a couple of paintings and a tiny bit of information about the artist; nor too large, so by the end of it you’ve been arted-out. It’s the perfect size, with enough information and beautiful paintings, but placed in such a way that you don’t get exhausted by the sheer display of detail and beauty in the paintings. It’s also well situated near to several very good cafés, so once you’ve finished, there’s something else to do before the train home…!

Hey Blog! Friday two weeks ago I went to something I haven’t seen for years – a concert!

I realise that you don’t go to see a concert. You listen to one. And this was a very good one, by my (very limited) knowledge of concert standards. Moreover, it was given by the National Scout and Guide Concert Band and Symphony Orchestra, the NSGCB/NSGSO. And due to my ever-growing circle of contacts within the Scouting movement, there were three if not more people I know or have met playing; one from my own Explorer group, one from the Jamboree group, and one that I randomly met while taking exams. As you do.

The concert was held in Birmingham, so we stayed in the same Travelodge as we did for some of my exams this year. As such, we knew exactly where to go for transport, sustenance, and sleep. We went down in the evening, dropped off our bags, and went straight out to the venue to attend. Even though we’d booked relatively late, our seats were very good – in the front row of the top balcony, and directly in front of the middle of the stage, so there was a very good view of what was going on. The Friday night programme, when we went, was the Concert Band first and the Symphony Orchestra second, with a short interval in the middle.

In total, there are nearly a hundred Scouts and Guides in both the Band and Orchestra, so about 200 put together. They come from across the whole country and there are even some from overseas. The Orchestra started 51 years ago, and the Band 11 years ago – we missed the huge anniversary one last year, but I think it might be a regular thing now (except that the next one will be when I’m in Poland on the Jamboree – might have to get the CD for that one!). The pieces they played range from Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody to Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet Fantasy-Overture, and were all full of musical passion and Scouting enthusiasm. I think the Orchestra had the harder pieces, and playing second at nearly 10 o’clock at night had to work harder to keep an audience that was already saturated with the Band’s playing. The Band had a larger selection and from more diverse styles, as well as having the people I knew in it. Both, however, were astonishing – especially as all members only have one week to learn their part of the arrangement, including solos! Having a lot of people playing at once means that even when one makes a mistake, the others can keep going, and they can catch up – still, having such as short time to learn makes it even more impressive!

As a person who hasn’t gone to many concerts at all – probably less than 10 in my life – I have some catching up to do. Maybe I’ll go to some more now I’ve got the inspiration… and who knows, I might even learn another instrument and take part one day!

Hey Blog! This post is about two workshops I attended last weekend. Both were making workshops and they were in different materials. The first one, at the Museum of Making in Derby, was a blacksmithing afternoon.

I have, a very long time ago (in Home Ed at the Forge, January 24), told you about blacksmithing. That time, I was at the High Peak Junction forge making a poker. This time was making an ornament, an ammonite-esque spiral form, in a workshop delivered by the same smith that I met at the careers day last year (see Creative Careers, December 25), and made of rebar. This use of a material that is chosen because the pattens on it match the final form is something that seems so obvious, but I’d never have thought of. We were using the museum’s ceramic forge, which is very powerful and makes the metal really easy to work. I think I did well; the piece I made looks good and hangs very nicely as a necklace, though it’s quite heavy. It resembles another spiral pendant I have, that came out of a goodie bag years ago, and is an amazing design. I think before long I’ll be making some more, similar, and maybe I’ll finally make that forge in the garden we talked about before…

The second workshop was at the leathercraft fair they have every year. This is the shop the archaeology team got the pieces for the hnefatafl boards from, and I got a free spot because of this, being the team member who was interested in it and able to go. We were making a luggage tag, complete with rivets, buckle strap, and flap for reading the label. It was such a good experience, because the only leathercraft I’ve really done is tails for mice, a put-it-together-yourself card holder, and my phone purse that I designed myself. This pouch is lined and has a flap to hold it all together, and was until now the most progressed thing I’d made in this area, but adding some brass pins and buckle, as well as using some very nice red colour tanned leather, has instantly pushed the bar higher. I think I’ve got the hang of saddle stitch, the classic stitch for leather; I was even advancing the technique before everyone else in the workshop had really started. The premise of the workshop was that by using all the same techniques, you could make a belt or indeed anything out of leather. At the same event, I bought a strip of gold leather to make a fancy belt (and am now on the quest for a buckle) and some thick pale leather to practice with. I may expand the products I offer at sales to include coasters, bracelets and even more, if I continue to learn, so the future looks to be very interesting indeed!

Hey Blog! Just a short one today, about an event in Scouting that gave me my first opportunity to camp without knowing anyone there, and help with a whole plethora of activities for Scouts of all ages.

Activation is something I have mentioned before. I attended in 2019, as a Cub, and last year, as a Young Leader with the archaeology team. This year was the first that I have helped as a Young Leader on the whole site, with all activities. They have a team of Explorers each year who help the adult leaders, and provide a halfway point between old and young. The biggest job is asking the younger sections, “are you exited?!” telling them to drink lots of water and stay in the shade, and that no, they can’t actually go for an ice cream because their next activity starts in one minute and they need to be on the other side of the field so go NOW. I like it because you get to interact with the younger sections, and tell them about your time there, and hopefully encourage them not to be so scared of coming alone for a whole day. When one is only eight, that’s hard.

There is a camping space set apart for Young Leaders, because Scouting rules mean that people in the older sections can’t share a sleeping space with either adults or younger ones. There were quite a few of us there, almost all of whom were complete strangers, and by the end of the weekend, we weren’t. We’re still in touch, occasionally. That’s one of the things I love about Scouting and activity camps in general – they make you get to know people you’ve never met before, spreading the circle of people one knows ever wider. In everything except sleeping we were fully integrated into the camp life: collecting breakfast crazy early from the canteen (which had to serve over a hundred people three meals a day for two days, so the chefs were busy!), waiting around while everyone was off at their activities and walking around talking to them when they were back onsite for breaktimes and lunchtimes, and assisting the adults in taking the children down to be picked up by parents at the end of the day.

So, that was Saturday, with the Cubs. Sunday, with the Scouts and Explorers, I chose to help with the Archaeology group again, where we were making hnefatafl boards. This Viking board game is family-friendly yet Viking-accurate, unlike the swords, axes, and large heavy helmets* that most people associate with this ancient Norse people. Far from being exclusively bloodthirsty warriors (though they were very much so at times) Viking culture was rich in gaming, drinking, and singing; often these were combined, for instance battle and gaming in the ancient boardgame hnefatafl. The h at the beginning is a bit like the k at the beginning of knot, in that it’s knot not pronounced. We don’t actually know how the Vikings pronounced it, nor do we know all the exact rules they would have used, because the original form of the game died out completely. However, from records and similar games that have survived, we have rebuilt them. I have heard that one of the rules was that you weren’t allowed to attack the winner with an axe just because they beat you, which I think is pretty good advice, whether it’s original or not!

The boards we made were of leather, decorated with marker pen, and tied up with string to form a pouch to carry the pieces. Our counters were glass pebbles, like those often found in vases. I think all the Scouts who came to us enjoyed it lots, and one of the best bits was they could take the game home to play with friends and family, further spreading interest. As a side note, the leather we used was from a local leather shop, which invited anyone from the team to come to a workshop on their open day a few weeks later, so there will be a post about that coming very shortly. Watch this space!

* No, sorry, Viking helmets didn’t have horns. The few contemporary depictions which do include horned helmets are most likely of gods, not men, though absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, and one day we may find an actual horned Viking helmet. Probably not though – it’s hard to attach the horns. Apologies if all you have heard of Vikings is How To Train Your Dragon and the Norwegian football team; neither represent real-life historical culture, much as they might represent modern culture, sadly.