Last week, year 5 went to camp, for many it was the longest they’d ever been away from home.
We signed up for camp in September, without too much thought – June was ages away, wouldn’t he practically be grown up by then? But as we passed Easter, we realised that camp was almost upon us.
My own experience of camping is confined to 1970s girl guide camp – a week of whittling branches and knotting string to create strange mug trees and shoe racks. My son had never slept under canvas at all.
The Fairthorne Manor facilities looked fantastic – not a mug tree or shoe rack in sight. Instead, there were great activities like the zip wire, climbing wall, kayaking and orienteering.
Over half term, we watched the weather forecasts nervously; we planned and packed for an unpredictable June week. Already a seasoned user of his wheeled suitcase, our boy now had to get to grips with a laundry bag, sleeping bag, torches and spreading his £8 spending money over 5 days. Not to mention a bunch of exciting activities.
Monday morning saw a crowd of children bundled onto the coach, and a gang of parents looking a little lost as it disappeared towards the M32.
As the week went on, I had split-second moments when I couldn’t work out why the house was so quiet or tidy, then I remembered why. It was very strange to be totally out of contact. When he’s been away before, we’ve always spoken to him on the phone.
We loved getting a postcard, and every night at 9.30 thought about “hot chocolate and biscuits time” (at camp, not for us). We also had the guilty pleasure of going out with no need for a babysitter.
I’m not sure what I expected as I waited for the children to get off the coach on Friday. Dishevelled, grubby, tired, perhaps a little more grown up. They all looked remarkably well, and the adults even more so.
Our son seemed happy and calm; he rated the week ten out of ten. He returned with all his possessions, an extra pair of shorts and a few more freckles. He still had 50p (budgetary genius) and an unopened bottle of shampoo; he assured us that his hair had got wet in the shower.
Small stories have come out over the weekend and we’re waiting for more:
“I didn’t like the bump at the end of the zip wire, so I only went on four times” ….
“I knew the raft we’d built was going to collapse, so I got ready to jump off before we left the shore”….
“Why do girls scream when their hair gets wet?”
Overall, what a fantastic achievement for all the children. Well done to them and thanks to all the adults who looked after them at camp.
