A tale of odd socks, oily crisps and tested patience
Two nine-year-old girls were walking at the back of a large group in Cheung Chau last week. One said: 'It's not fair, they make us walk 17 kilometres just to look at a hole in the ground and then all the way back again.' The teacher's version was: 'We strolled no more than three kilometres and surveyed an historically important site [a pirate's cave] and undertook a street study on the way back.'
It was the annual residential camp. Some would say once a year is more than enough. The logistics of supervising more than 100 students to and on an outlying island for several days (and nights) would daunt army generals.
But camp looks different depending on who's involved. Teachers see a more social extension of school life with similar discipline and structure. They plan a full programme of educational activities.
Students see them in a different light. When their class leader is spotted eating dodgy sausage butties and hard-boiled eggs for breakfast just like them it earns respect very quickly. When asked, 'do you have to eat this stuff as well?' one teacher reluctantly had to agree.
Teachers are also on duty 24 hours a day in an environment where sleep becomes more hope than fact. The real skill, though, is interpreting back at school the work produced in specially-prepared books that have been carried with soggy sandwiches, oily crisps and congealed substances.
In addition, camp is an opportunity to develop social skills in students, some of whom are away from home and looking after their things for the first time. Not all are completely successful. One boy when challenged as to why his bed and his clothes looked as if they had been dragged backwards through a hedge several times, looked shocked. 'But it's tidy,' he protested.
To see youngsters playing team games and running around is a reminder that many Hong Kong students get few such opportunities and see this as the main purpose of the trip.
Parents are glad to see their children back happy and exhausted. They are often less happy, however, with the contents of returning bags. A random inspection of one revealed three T-shirts rolled into balls, seven odd socks a germ warfare facility would die for, three squashed chocolate bars, a piece of featureless rock and a collection of underwear that defies description.
But my favourite moment was catching three girls running back to their room from the toilet long after lights out, planning a midnight feast. 'Sshhh,' one of them almost shouted. 'Or you'll wake the teachers.' Another replied: 'Don't worry, they're too old to wake up.' I threatened them with a 17 km walk. That seemed to do the trick.
Paul McGuire is deputy head of an English Schools Foundation primary school
