FEATURE
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Within Tent © LUCIA FOSTER-FOUND 2021
um got back in the car. “Are we there yet?” It was her turn to ask; the kids, sat in the back seat were beyond caring. “That’s the fourth gate we’ve come through.” “One more gate. It’s the next field, with a stream running through it.” That was a relief; this one had cows running through it. Arriving in their wild camping site, courtesy of a farmer friend, the tent set-up was slick, much-practised in the back garden during various lockdowns. Dad looked smug. The frequent and rigorous drills, to the accompaniment of plaintive cries from the kids of “what again?” and “must we?” had evidently paid off. Mum and Dad had looked forward to a weekend al fresco, close to nature, punctuated by the sound of happy children’s laughter, the twittering of birds and the soothing patter of water over stones. “It’ll be great” they said. “We’ll have such fun” they said… Oh, who were they kidding? Their first day was just one long meal. No sooner had they eaten breakfast, than there were demands for a midmorning snack. Elevenses out of the way, it was time to think about lunch. Once they’d eaten that, the kids started to ask about tea. It was like camping with hobbits. And the sounds punctuating the beautiful summer’s day were mainly squabbling over swingball and complaints there was no signal. The cows it seemed, had only recently vacated this field, so added to the bickering was a medley of “Mum! I’ve stepped in a cowpat/fallen in a cowpat.” And that old chestnut “Mum, he/she threw a cowpat at me...” In between feeding the perpetually ravenous brood, Mum rinsed shoes and clothes in the stream, thinking fondly of the washing machine; practically the only thing they’d left at home. No matter whether you were going camping for three days or three months, it seemed the vast acreage of paraphernalia required remained the same. In a fit of nostalgia, the parents had packed lo-tech games for their after dinner entertainment. They got as far as lighting a lamp and sitting at the table, before fleeing to the safety of the tent and its fly screens. Too late; the swarming mosquitos had already feasted on their exposed body parts. “What do they eat when they can’t get campers?” Mum mused, as a happy half hour spent anointing
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everyone’s bites, replaced the delights of draughts and dominoes. That was when the earthquake happened. The tent rocked, bulged and vibrated. Grinding noises were heard. The children screamed. Mum screamed. Dad used words his family didn’t know he knew. They all fled outside where their new best friends, the mosquitos, were waiting for them. And also the cattle, who were paying a neighbourly visit through a hole in the hedge. Presumably because they too had enjoyed the attentions of the mosquitos, they were rubbing themselves enthusiastically against the car and had started on the tent. No phone signal meant that Dad had to trek back through all five gates to get the farmer to entice his herd back to their own home and out of theirs. The unfortunate tent didn’t survive the bovine affections so lavished upon it and a cramped night was spent in the car by all. Come morning, tired and scratching their bites, they emerged to a scene of devastation in the drizzle-laden dawn. When Mum said “I’d make a cup of tea, but everything edible is missing and the cows have done something terminal to the stove” it seemed like the last straw. “Shall we pack up and go home?” she asked no-one in particular. Dad’s rather wan “Yes please..” which mirrored her own thoughts, was unexpectedly drowned out by cries of “No!” and “Not yet!” from the kids. Whilst Mum lay on the back seat of the car and napped, Dad trudged off to the farmhouse to forage for food. Meanwhile, back at the camp… The kids built and lit a campfire - and constructed a bivvy alongside, using the remnants of the tent. “Bear Grylls” one said nonchalantly, “Ray Mears” shrugged the other, in response to their parents’ speechless look of amazement. That night, after sausage and bean stew cooked by the children over the fire, the family bedded down in the cosy bivvy, untroubled by the mosquitos who were driven off by woodsmoke. As they played cards by the light of the lamp, the kids were already excitedly planning the next camping weekend with talk of crayfish traps and fishing tackle. “It’ll be great” they said. “We’ll have such fun” they said…
