It’s behind you!
It’s great when the children get taken out. They seem to enjoy trips more with the school than they do with us. I don’t know how the teachers do it. They seem to be able to make them enthusiastic about going places that if I suggested them would be met with groans of, oh do we HAVE to?
The eldest headed off skiing recently (Hillend, not actual snow) and insisted I drop him some way off.
Me: And why is that, child?
Him: You are embarassing.
Me: Everybody has parents, it is not just you, you know.
Him: I know that. But not everybody has one like you.
Me: Well of course. If we are all the same it would be boring.
Him:Yes. But. It’s…
Me: Yes?
Him: …
Me: It’s?
Him: It’s. It’s. You give me last minute safety advice! When me and R went cycling you told me to remember to put my helmet on. Last time we went to Hillend you told me to do what the instructor said. And when I went to school last week you told me to look both ways before I crossed the road. I KNOW THESE THINGS!
Me: Right. Hmm. I see. I’d better stay in the car then.
Him: You’d better. And don’t forget to put the handbrake on.
That is it, then. Of all the myriad ways in which I could embarass my children (and there are many) it is the last minute safety advice that puts me beyond the pale. He has a point.
Today saw the middlies heading off to panto land. The PTA subsidised the trip (thank you, PTA) and the entire school were bussed off to the Brunton Theatre to see Cinderella. Our boy had somehow got the idea that the panto was girlie, and showed huge resistance to going. He said it wouldn’t have enough boy things in it, like fighting. He compensated for this by putting up an enormous struggle on the way in.
My wee girl was looking forward to it hugely, and thanks to her brother’s battling, she was spared a last minute injunction to listen to what the teachers tell her and on no account to miss the bus. Both of them were both full of the panto when I picked them up, having surprisingly, without prompting, managed to catch the bus.
Haddington Infants are pretty brave at taking them on trips - the P2’s have an overnight stay, last year at Alison Cargill house, which my wee boy loved. They must have a lot of commitment from the staff to be able to do this. I don’t remember much about my primary school trips, other than one where we went to Vane Farm and the teachers kept telling this girl to stop going on and on about her sore stomach. It was only when she finally passed out that they conceded she maybe had a point. It turned out she had appendicitis and had to get ambulanced off. It was apparently pretty lucky that was not her final journey. Educational, even though we did miss the visit to the hide.
Secondary school trips were another matter entirely. In S2, the staff put us to bed then headed off for the pub, whereupon we promptly got up, snuck out and started setting things on fire (old planks, cigarettes, vodka). The deal seemed to be the teachers wouldn’t tell on us if we didn’t tell on them.
On the same trip, we were walking round the top of a large valley with the intention of climbing a hill on the far side then going down. Part way round, my friend and I, thinking that looked quite a long way and with unsuitable shoes and thin jackets, asked if we couldn’t dip into the valley, climb the hill and meet them on the top. The teacher okayed this, and we set off, climbing up the alloted hill to what seemed to be the top, despite a sleety drizzle coming on and off. Once there, we thought all we had to do was wait for the rest of the party. But they didn’t come and they didn’t come.
At last, below, we saw a straggly band plodding along at the bottom of the valley. Not our lot, obviously, as we were meeting them here. Other hikers. “Do you think that is them?” asks my friend, enentually. How could we tell? They must have been over 1000ft below us. We sat some more. The hikers disappeared down the valley. She looked at me and I looked at her. We decided on balance even if it wasn’t them and we got into trouble for not waiting, we were going down. About halfway down the hill it started getting dark, slippy already. We found a stream and followed that, figuring it probably knew where it was going. There was a loch past the end of the valley which you had to cross the road to get to (we’d had a while to survey the terrain, sitting on top of the hill) and we reckoned it was making for that.
When we finally got back, we were in trouble, though not for not waiting, but for not coming down when they came past.
This trip pretty much set the tone for the rest. I do wonder how much of it the teachers knew was going on. I don’t recall anyone ever being dangerously drunk - the only time anyone was actually unconscious that I remember was the result of leaping onto the minibus a tad too enthusiastically (i.e before the door was open). Maybe they knew it always happened and it was always fine.
So against this background, it is with some trepidation I went to a presentation on the Knox 28 day trip to Zambia. No, make that considerable alarm. No, make that barely suppressed panic. On the one hand: what an opportunity. To get to see life ‘behind the scenes’ somewhere so completely different from here - it must stay with them for the rest of their lives. I’ve never been anywhere like this. To get to see that when you’re just starting out, it must be fantastic. On the other hand, as the picture of person looking over the edge of the Victoria Falls comes on screen with the caption “Imagine your child here” I can feel it coming over me… “For heavens sake STAND BACK A BIT!”
What I want, really, is a school full of small children following him round going “It’s behind you!” anytime anything dangerous pops up. Wait a minute. I think I might know where you could get one of those actually…