ALL OUT

In the classroom the children can be controlled by one teacher. Even the playground has four walls. In a bus they can’t escape, but once their summer outing destination – whoosh!

Two teachers and seventy school children on the loose would be impossible, so parents were called in to help. We soon learned you need octopus limbs, compound eyes and ears like Mr Spock. It’s a task you’re either born to, learn through experience or die a dozen deaths. Those trips to places of interest were mainly for the children’s pleasure but with underlying educational value. The helpers’ education was vastly increased though by just observation.

It never ceased to amaze us the way parents packed their offspring. On a sweltering hot day, overcoats and wellies- pouring rain brought lads in shirt sleeves. One had a whole loaf of sandwiches while another brought a packet of crisps. Drinks gave the biggest eyeopener. Huge flimsy plastic bottles which, with one sharp sit down split the seams and exploded fizzy syrup all over everything. Glass bottles smashed on concrete by sticky bun fingers. Cups came in all sizes from coffee to pints, plastic, enamel, china, flask tops to shaving mugs.

Carrying bags always gave a cause for concern. The sensible had canvas haversacks, while the senseless brought paper bags which collapsed instantly with leaky squash. While you salvaged the disasters, the others shot off like Olympic medallists. You chased them and the stragglers took the wrong turning. It was one long merry go round.

With our own offspring’s classes we knew most of their names. When we helped in other classes we felt like dunces. A name would be as good as a sharp whip- a ‘you there with the green jumper’ was as useless as cotton wool ears. Our packs were filled to cover every disaster – pins, plasters, scissors, string, towel and you name it – but we never had the one item for the inevitable undreamed of mishap.

There were the essential toilet stops. Long queues for the girls with crossed legs and moans from adults caught in the school mele with only one cubicle, hand washing with no soap or towels. Boys flew in and out in a flash, so they went wild during the long wait for the girls.

Once at the actual place of interest, the dimmest child knew teacher had all the answers beforehand and the helpers were ignorant. This placed us as the butt for every joker in the pack. We had to keep one step ahead all the time, asking questions and explaining facts, holding their attention by every trick we could conjure up. If the group had mixed boys and girls, the sexes had distinctly opposing interests. To keep disinterested under control while you caught the keen was a master art for which we had no training besides mother experience.

At the Tower of London, I was assigned ten boys. This tower covers a large area. I held their interest with the highlight bait of the crown jewels, then housed in one room. The queue was enormous. Once inside, everyone was packed like fish in a shoal. We were pushed and jostled by fractious youngsters and enthusiastic foreigners. I tried to keep my bunch together, I really did, but always one became lost in the showcase maze.

Suddenly we heard a loud crash. Instantly, like a gun shot, the roaring noise in that room ceased and only panic hearts could be heard. Security guards swooped in.

Who had smashed a plate glass case? A thief, a crank or a mere accident? I totted up my heads, one was missing. My legs turned to putty.

Then slowly the babble returned, the panic was over. A cleaner pushed through the throng and scooped up from the tiled floor the hundred pieces of a pint-sized china mug. I felt ten years older.