If you’re a parent, you’ll know that barely a day goes by without a new book
or survey revealing how modern life is messing up our children. Mindless
computer games, mass-media marketing, fast food and safety fears all combine
to turn them into jaded, channel-surfing brats. And the long summer holidays
only seem to make the problem worse. With week after week off school, how
are we to keep the little dar-lings amused?
The Americans have an answer: send them to summer camp. This traditional
solution to a modern problem is beginning to take hold in Britain, where
parents are packing their children off to experience a week or more of
high-octane activities, exercise and fresh air. Kids not only benefit from
being in the big outdoors, it is alleged, they develop a sense of
independence and responsibility.
One of several companies making such promises is 3D Summer Camp, which has
centres in Dorset and on the Isle of Wight, and offers themed weeks
throughout the holidays for children aged between 7 and 15. I showed the 3D
brochure to my son, Callum, 7, and his eyes widened as they fell on
photographs of youngsters swinging on ropes, paddling kayaks and riding quad
bikes through mud. “Wow,” he said. “Can I do that?” Yes, but on one
condition. I told Callum he would have to keep a diary, for not only would
this be his first holiday without his parents, it would also be his first
assignment as a junior reporter. His face collapsed as the truth dawned.
“But, Dad, that’s not fair. I’ll be too busy having fun to do any writing!”
Spoken like a true journalist.
3D offers to collect children from 15 points across the country, but I opted
to drive down to Osmington Bay, on the Dorset coast, so I could have a nose
around. The setting was idyllic, perched on a grassy hillside looking out
across the glistening waters of Weymouth Bay to the Isle of Portland. The
camp itself was vaguely reminiscent of Butlins circa 1975, with low rows of
weatherbeaten chalets and a huge canteen that smelt of motorway service
stations.
If it all looked uninviting to us adults, to the children it was clearly a
parentless paradise. A group of 20 boys and girls aged between 7 and 9
grinned as they were taken on a tour of the facilities: the assault course,
the climbing walls, the racetrack, the ropes and the Aeroball, a cross
between trampolining and basketball. I had to admit that the facilities
looked impressive.
The handover was straightforward. We had been given a detailed list of things
to pack — three pairs of tracksuit bottoms, two pairs of trainers, one set
of “disco” clothes for the last night — and were asked to give Callum some
pocket money. “Most of them get £20,” said Jez, one of the monitors at
check-in. “We look after it for them, and they can spend it in the shop or
on phone calls home.”
Needless to say, we didn’t get a phone call. My wife and I had a week to
ourselves, and we found ourselves drifting through days devoid of structure,
going to restaurants on a whim and sleeping in late, as if we were childless
again.
“I wonder what he’s doing now,” my wife would say, and I’d reach for the
schedule: “Archery — 2pm to 3.30pm. Then it’s tunnel trail.”
We met him under the clock at Waterloo station, one of the 15 collection
points. He was exchanging palm slaps with Jacko, the most exuberant monitor,
who sported a pierced eyebrow and a backwards-facing baseball cap. Callum’s
cap was also pointing backwards.
“Hi,” he said, when he saw us. He looked more than a little insouciant, but we
later realised that this was down to tiredness rather than indifference. He
had been up until midnight scoffing sweets the night before, and had woken
up at 6am.
When we got home and Callum had wolfed down two bowls of pasta, he presented
me with the remains of his pocket money: 18p. Most of the rest had gone on
party-size bottles of Diet Coke, he said. Two of them were in the suitcase I
had just carried home. “Is that all you bought?” I asked. “They were only
£1.99,” he said. “I got some sweets too.”
Then came the moment of truth. Callum dug into his rucksack and proudly held
aloft his diary. So here, with only minimal editing, is the first draft of
his article:
“On Sunday I made a new friend called Etienne. My teacher is called Jacko. On
Monday we did quad-biking and orienteering. It was fan- tastic. On Tuesday
we did climbing, Aeroball and low ropes. I lost my voice, which doesn’t
normally happen. On Wednesday we did abseiling, disco, trampolining and
circus skills. Brilliant. Done!”
I turned the page, but there was no more. While I enjoyed the triumphalist
sign-off, the piece as a whole was fatally short on detail, so I asked
Callum to write some more. He looked mortified, then sat hunched over the
kitchen table, his face screwed up, trying to wring out a few more lines. I
knew how he felt. “Don’t just list the activities,” I suggested. “Say what
you did and how it made you feel.”
An hour later, we had a second draft. Here’s an extract:
“On Monday we did orienteering. I felt really nervous because it was my first
lesson. Then we did quad-biking. I felt really good. Archery was really
hectic. I was really good at it. There was a contest about a fork, knife and
spoon. I got two spoons and a fork. Tunnel trail was so wicked and I felt
really good. Climbing was really wicked and I felt really great.”
I told Callum he had done a marvellous job, but that we were still some way
off filling a 1,300-word article. It was time to revert to the traditional
method of interrogation. This will be familiar to all parents. As in: “What
did you do at school today?” To which the usual answer is: “Nothing. Can’t
remember.”
Once prompted, Callum started to spill the beans excitedly. He talked at
length about the friends he had made, the staff (they were “wicked”), the
chalet (quite comfortable, with ensuite bathroom) and the daily routine (a
bath before breakfast, and teeth-cleaning three times a day). He admitted
that he hadn’t eaten well. “The food wasn’t brilliant,” he said. “Not
rubbish, but in the middle. We could choose what we wanted to eat and nobody
made us finish it.”
I had seen a sample menu: tomato soup and a roll, followed by hot dogs or
carrot goujons with chips and spaghetti hoops, followed by biscuits or
fruit. Not bad, but if you give a 7-year-old boy free rein and £20 pocket
money, you shouldn’t be surprised when he has a few bites of a hot dog, then
heads straight to the tuck shop.
We also learnt of some friction between Callum and one of his roommates. The
two boys had argued a couple of times, and on the coach back to London, they
decided to settle things with fisticuffs. “Just pushing and shoving,
really,” said Callum. “And maybe a kick. Actually, I felt sorry for him. He
only had £5 pocket money.”
It was strangely comforting to learn that, while we had been acutely aware of
his absence, Callum hadn’t missed us one bit. “No, I didn’t miss you,” he
said, “but I didn’t miss anything about home. Not my toys, or the TV, or
computer games. Nothing.”
What had he learnt? “How to read a map,” he said after some thought. “And I
had to make a lot of decisions for myself. That was good.” And the writing?
We’re still working on that.
Book a camp
3D Summer Camp
(0800 169 2606, www.3d.co.uk/summercamp) offers themed weeks
according to age: Junior Multiactivity and Young Explorer (7-10); Motor
Mania, 24/7 Adventure, Techno Camp, Horse Lovers and Mission Spy (10-13);
and Teen Challenge, Teen Extreme, Get Motoring and Wet Wet Wet (13-15). Most
weeks cost £344.
Camp Beaumont
(01603 284280, www.campbeaumont.com) has residential camps in
Staffordshire, the Lake District, Norfolk and the Isle of Wight. It offers
more than 70 activities, including zipwire, skateboarding, football and
go-karts, for children aged 6-8, 8-10, 10-13, 13-16 and 15-17. A week costs
£378.
PGL
(0870 050 7507, www.pgl.co.uk) runs centres for children aged 7-17
across the UK and France. Activities include hiking, fencing, canoeing,
rifle-shooting and kayaking. A week starts at £359.
Manor Adventure
(01584 861333, www.manoradventure.com) has holidays for children aged
8-16 in Ludlow, with up to 30 activities. A week in summer starts at £299.
