The Girl Guides saved me from myself

I am standing by the coat racks in my local church hall in Putney. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the distinct odour of damp wool coats and hear the shout of the captain calling out “Bluebirds, into your corners!” It was my first Girl Guide meeting. The year was 1972 and I was 11 years old. Looking back, one may forget specific details of our younger years, who was number one in the charts or when I bought my wet-look maxi coat, but the underlying feelings stay with you forever. When I joined the Girl Guides, I never expected it to become such a defining and joyful part of my life. And despite recent debates over new policies, such as a new modernised, relaxed uniform, I am delighted that Girlguiding UK, as it is now known, continues to thrive. I was a far more rebellious child than an obedient one. Being naughty wasn’t about being mean; it was just the antithesis of being bored. I remember one morning, my best friend Melissa and I decided that bunking off school to walk along the Putney towpath sounded much better than a classroom. Unfortunately, we sank into the Thames mud, panicking and crying until a kind gentleman pulled us out. After many more incidents, including spending more time outside the Head Mistress’s office than actually learning, my parents had had enough. So when Melissa’s mum brought up the idea of the Girl Guides, my mother didn’t hesitate – she went straight out and bought the uniform. It was that or being grounded. Shorts The Girl Guides were instrumental in rounding off a few of the sharp edges of my personality and providing a much-needed layer of guidance and structure. Our meetings were on Friday, bridging the gap between Top of the Pops the night before and the weekend. When the time came, Melissa and I head to that church hall. At the beginning, we found flouting the rules more fun than listening. A case in point was the hostess badge. It required poise and social etiquette. Instead, our inner anarchist burst forth, and instead of conforming, Melissa and I started throwing bread rolls across the room. All the girls joined in and the chaos was legendary. When we gathered in a horseshoe to recite the Guide Law, standing there in my blue uniform, with my yellow cross over tie and beret, my natural instinct was to giggle, poke Melissa, or quietly mock the earnestness of the promises we were making. But the reaction of our Guide leader to our mischief is something I will never forget. She gave us a proper telling-off, but instead of shaming us, she told us that while it was okay to want to have fun, learning these things was a real skill, and she was going to teach us how to do it. Her mixture of firm boundaries and warmth won me over. She got me to conform, but more importantly, she got me to enjoy it. I think this was the turning point for me. I always responded to reason – I wasn’t a proud or stubborn child, and it made sense to my 11-year-old self. She made it feel okay to fit in, something I always thought was boring. It was not. From then on, I became the child who learned to love it. It was easier back then – phones, social media, and computers didn’t exist to hijack our minds and our souls. Our time was spent on what was wholesome and good. Instead of being glued to an iPad in the evening like kids today, we were learning by experience, actually doing stuff with our hands. We all read the Famous Five and felt like treasure hunters roaming the countryside. Girl Guides and adventure stories not only fed the imagination, but I grew to love the outdoor fun and camaraderie. I was naughty and rebellious. So when Melissa’s mum brought up the idea of the Girl Guides, my mother didn’t hesitate – she went straight out and bought the uniform We were encouraged to try physical activities like climbing – skills that back then were usually reserved for boys. Not to mention, we carried proper knives with sheaths on our Girl Guide belts, with no health and safety stifling our natural, adventurous selves. You saw this most during the annual summer camp, when our three or four patrol groups were sent down to a wide-open field in the countryside. There were no pre-assembled pop-up tents; we had to work as a team to build those large, canvas structures by ourselves, hammering tent pegs into the earth. I can still remember having to cross a wide river at camp. I hated heights. I was, and still am, a bit of a physical wimp. Naturally, I was terrified, staring up at a high, narrow log branch we had to hold to get across the water. But the older girls always took the younger ones under their wings, helping us see what we could and could not do. I made it across, scared out of my wits, but it was a great feeling of achievement when I touched the opposite bank. Those messy experiences are real memories, and were, unbeknown to us, teaching us how to build and work together, infinitely more valuable than following a bizarre TikTok trend. We would go on organised trips to visit zoos, and represent our unit at summer fetes. I remember helping out at the cake stall at Barnes Common; I think we ate more than we sold. But it was a perfect bridge between fun and responsibility. It was a bit of a prototype sisterhood. Like any true sisterhood, it was not always easy. At one point, Melissa hit it off with another girl, and they went off together for weeks. I suddenly found myself with no one to talk to. It felt like overwhelming heartbreak at that age. But it forced me to mix, to adapt, and to find my footing within the wider group. I left at 14, on the cusp of true teenage-dom, desperate for night clubs and the decadent years that followed. My time in the guides gave me a valuable toolkit for life. The leaders didn’t just teach us how to build fires or tie knots; they taught a wayward girl how to navigate boundaries, deal with rejection, and learn to compromise and cooperate. I may have outgrown the badges, but I will never forget the inner strength and confidence it has given me.