Open Writing

Teachers are smiling once more and mums are wearing their white, haunted, end-of-term expression again.

A nervous tick is developing around Dad’s left eye. Deliriously happy juniors will be swinging home with all their term’s toil squashed into a carrier bag.

The older scholars will be dragging home under the weight of their efforts an ominous sealed envelope cunningly concealed. Yes, we may as well face it this is no nightmare, the stark reality of what is aptly called the summer ‘break’ is here.

When junior lovingly empties all her own work over the tea table, it always brings a lump to my throat. What a pity we cannot return the compliment and send one back, filled with all our unwanted ‘masterpieces.’

But what cannot be cured must be endured, we only have to ‘suffer the little children’ for six weeks. Things could be worse; you could be struck with galloping malaria in the middle of the Market Hall on a hot day. I hope all these platitudes help you more than they help me.

Actually, it’s just a matter of keeping them occupied and quelling the ‘What can I do?’ before it takes root.

My mutinous crew’s insatiable lust for spending money has proved to be a valuable asset during our six weeks’ incarceration. They are interested in doing anything if it is lucrative and not too uncomfortable.

Our son was a willing helper during his holidays and never re-used to do any job, if the price was right and it didn’t mean moving from his buffet. Mind you, with the help of his sisters, who trusted him implicitly, until they learned to count, it is surprising the amount of jobs he did accomplish with his sitting position.

If you decide to introduce this ‘daily worker’ system there is no need to sit in anxious trepidation wondering what you can sell when they present their gigantic bill for daily services. This problem is painlessly reduced by the introduction of ‘taxes.’ All their aggravating habits are taxable.

You may notice a rapid personality change at this stage and might even start taking them to auntie’s again. Don’t worry too much, this angel phase does not last.

Planning a special day’s outing each week is a good idea. As long as it is a flexible arrangement which can be cancelled at a moment’s tantrum. It is wiser not to mention it, though, unless you are definitely prepared to go through with it, because once they know, nothing, but nothing, will put them off. If you develop rattling pneumonia you would have to go to the intensive care unit via the pre-arranged outing.

One of my golden rules is never promise anything you cannot fulfil or better still never promise anything. ‘We’ll see how you behave,’ is a safer bet.

Finding an outing to suit all tastes is a mammoth task. Forget you enjoyment – that is bottom of their list. Remember these happy outings are for their benefit.

This is where Dad’s help is vital. On these occasions he must be ready and waiting with a suitable anaesthetic the minute Mum is dragged in. What she needs now is an instant babysitter and an immediate childless evening off. Never make the mistake of expecting gratitude from young children. After an expensive day trip you could find on return their friends have enjoyed a blissful day fishing in the canal across the road, and the pity you expect them to feel for their stay-at-home mates will probably sound like ‘Why couldn’t we . . . ?’

Next to money, children love water, preferably dirty with treacherous tight-tearing access. In fact outings need not be expensive. We have three well-equipped parks and Ravenknowle Museum is well worth a visit.

Pretty streams and woodland are within easy reach for most of us.

Children love picnics. No need for elaborate cuisine. I can still remember the exquisite pleasure my sister and I enjoyed as we shared a bottle of water and a bundle of jam sandwiches in my father’s hen-run. It’s just the fun of eating outside in the soft grass, with only the sound of birds and rustling leaves.

I once took my Sunday school class of vigorous nine-year-olds on a picnic to Longwood Edge, a childhood haunt of mine. Mums gave me some quizzical glances as we set off. First we climbed the rocks, then the pork-pie tower. We surveyed our bird’s eye kingdom then took it in turns to make a speech from the pulpit-shaped stone in a grass valley.

Our fish paste sandwiches was voraciously eaten to the accompaniment of a hidden cricket. It was inconceivable that these lads who made my Sunday mornings so wretched could transform a Saturday afternoon so pleasantly.

For the very young a table-over tent in the backyard takes a lot of beating. Or perhaps a short expedition ‘lucky’ stone collecting. Another excellent pastime for the artistically inclined is to bring back as many holiday shells and pebbles as Dad can carry. Using Polycel cement they can clutter up a vase, plant pot, or anything else you never liked anyway.

When you go out take a sketch pad, they will probably end up playing noughts and crosses but if it’s occupational, it’s fun. Buy them a scrapbook, they can spend many happy hours sticking in useless pictures. It’s all messy, but less frustrating than fuss.

If you have a short-sighted gardener let them loose on the front lawn, a home-made game of Jokari or clockwork golf will keep them happy for a while.

We went through a hiking phase once. It lasted until we got out of the car at Edale village, turned the corner and everyone saw the ice-cream van.

On one optimistically planned ramble, feeling tired, I told everyone about a white lie about hidden Neolithic treasure near by. I was about to uncover my corns when our excited archaeologists returned with what looked like a load of old iron to me. It turned out to be an ancient working tool.

Don’t forget you local library, not just for the children, but also as a relaxation for Mum. Let them browse on their own while you do the same. Our friendly librarians have provided me with countless passports to tranquillity.

It pays to plant the idea that everyone needs a quiet time, even Mum, from a very early age.

I often spent sewing time in the children’s playpen. They always seemed happier gazing in at me from the outside.