"Dreams - Really Do Come True" - A Book By Gordon Beard
School Outing
Either in 1930 or 1931, I recall the Church School summer outing to
the seaside at Maldon – or at least we thought it was the seaside.
(In later years, I discovered it was actually no more than a river bank
where sand had been deposited!)
Every week for six months, mum had struggled to give a small sum
of money to Miss Caroll towards the cost of the fare and at last the
June day arrived. Mothers with pushchairs and bags packed with
sandwiches and bottles of home-made lemonade were surrounded
by excited children in sandals, summer dresses and floppy white sun
hats. We assembled in the playground, buckets and spades at the
ready, to await the arrival of the big red Charabanc, a single-decker
coach with a folding canvas roof. It soon arrived and I remember the
logo emblazoned on the side. It was a huge circle in the form of a belt
with a big, square, silver buckle and Simpson and Sons painted in bold
letters on the side of the belt. The huge canvas hood was folded back
to provide maximum air which we all enjoyed – the long locks of the
girls’ hair was blown back, making my favourite girlfriend (I’m not
revealing who!) appear as a Seraphim.
As the Charabanc chugged along at 25 miles per hour, we boys counted
petrol stations as we passed. I counted BP and Charlie Wright counted
Shell. Each child jingled a dozen pennies in their trouser pocket or girl’s
purse – our allocation of the proceeds from the annual emptying of the
money box. This was enough for one ride on the magic roundabout,
one ice cream and a stick of rock, plus three pence to gamble in the slot
machine. The boy who had succumbed to an extra ride had to build
sand castles while his sister queued at the ice cream stall. “Can I have
a swig of lemonade please, Mum?” he’d ask. A hard learned lesson in
money management!
The highlight of the day was a boat trip up the Blackwater estuary. The
sailing barges were lined up on the beach, the captains in their black
and white peaked caps were touting for our custom. Miss Bacon, our
teacher in charge, settled with the captain of the ‘Pretty Polly.’ As we
filed up the gang plank to go aboard, the captains who had lost out
in the fight for our custom suddenly attacked our captain, punching
him furiously in the face and causing blood to spurt from cuts to his
eyebrows, lips and nose. They finally knocked him to the ground and
sent him roly-polying towards the incoming tide. But, unperturbed, he
picked himself up, came aboard, hauled up the giant red sail, raised the
anchor and off we sailed, followed all the way by screeching seagulls.
On our return, we were treated to a meal in a restaurant, courtesy of
the school governing board. Then, on the journey home, we all held
brightly coloured windmills out of the Charabanc windows and joined
in a chorus of catchy tunes, such as:
There was a jolly miller who lived by himself
As the sails went round, he made his wealth,
One hand in the hopper and the other in the sack
As the sails went round, he made his whack.
The end of a perfect day. . .
Children of the 21st century: surfing the Internet, doing wheelies on
your expensive cycles, chatting on your mobile phones – you don’t
know what real happiness is. Try trundling a wooden hoop along the
road with a hazel-wood stick or whipping a wooden top across the
playground. That’s real happiness with a capital ‘H’.
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