The Annual School Trip to
Belgium
The school trip to Bruges in
Belgium was an annual event during the time I attended the Grammar School.
Please forgive my lapses in memory but it is over 50 years ago after all
when I went – 1952 I believe, when I was 12 and in form 2A. One received an
invitation at the beginning of the school year, I believe, and places were
allocated on a first come first served basis as far as I remember. The trip
took place in the summer, but I can’t remember whether it was during term
time or during the summer vacation – I’m sure someone who went on one of the
trips will answer that question.
On departure day we met up at
Burton railway station, presumably in the morning, carrying our suitcases
(or, more likely with the younger ones like myself, the suitcase being
carried by a parent) shoes polished, hair combed and probably new clothes
bought specially for the trip. We boarded a train to London, presumably
changing at Derby. Once in London we travelled on the underground to Charing
Cross station (or was it Waterloo?), where we boarded the train for Dover.
At Dover we boarded the ferryboat to Ostend and I remember that the sea was
very rough, so most of us spent the trip below decks feeling decidedly
queasy. No doubt a few were actually seasick. I don’t recall very much else
about the sea trip and can’t remember how long it took. At Ostend we boarded
a train to Bruges; again I don’t remember much about it or how we got from
the station to the hotel. I remember thinking that the railway engines
looked different to the ones in England. At the hotel we were allocated
rooms but I don’t remember how many to a room or who I shared with.
Whilst in Bruges we went on a
trip to Walcheren Island which I think is just over the border in Holland. I
took with me on the trip an old Brownie box camera which I left on a stall
in the market place whilst making a purchase of some sort of souvenir, so I
ended up with no souvenir photographs to show people back home. I don’t
recall any other organised trips but I do remember having lots of free time
to look around Bruges, which I remember as a quaint town (city?) with its
canals and ladies in the streets spinning lace garments. A few of us made
friends with a Belgian boy of around our age and he showed us around lots of
places including the beautiful cathedral. He even took us to meet his
parents. Some of us, despite our age, were smokers and purchased Belgian
cigarettes, because they were cheaper than English ones, but the Belgian lad
thought we were mad, as he only smoked English ones because of their
superior quality.
One day a group of us were
smoking in my bedroom, which was at the end of a corridor, when someone
heard “Ernie” Ward at the other end of the corridor. The others quickly left
to go to their own rooms leaving me to face him alone. I quickly swilled my
face and rinsed my mouth out just before “Ernie” entered, sniffed and said
“Has someone been smoking in here?” to which I replied “No sir, there’s only
me in here, it must be coming in through the window.” Fortunately for me he
did not question that stupid remark, but turned round and walked away.
Although my memory of the trip
has been dulled by advancing years, I know that I thoroughly enjoyed my
first trip abroad as did everyone else who went. It was interesting to find
out that although we had a slight understanding of the French language, (but
not Flemish which was spoken by many Belgians), most of the Belgian people
we came across spoke very good English. I remember a group of us once
getting slightly lost and asking, in schoolboy French, an old lady for
directions back to the hotel. She started to reply in very fast French,
which we could not understand, but once we explained that we were English
she gave us the directions in perfect English.
Although it was 1952(?) there
was still a great deal of rationing in England, seemingly more so than in
Belgium, for I remember purchasing a bag of sugar to take home for my mum,
who was very pleased to receive it. I was very grateful to my parents for
giving me the opportunity to travel abroad, something which they themselves
had never done at that time.
My final recollection of the
trip is that carrying a suitcase around left me with a blister on the middle
finger of my left hand. A few days after returning from the trip I was on my
travels again to attend a cadet camp in South Wales. Whilst there, the
blister on my finger turned septic and I ended up in the camp hospital where
they lanced the finger to remove the poison within the wound. At least I did
not have to get up early every morning and go on exercises with the rest of
the lads, but spent several days lying or sitting around getting pampered by
the orderlies because of my young age.
Because of the time spent in
hospital I was unable to finish smoking the packet of cigarettes which I had
in my army shirt pocket. I forgot to take them out of the pocket when I got
home and next morning was horrified to find that my mum had removed the
shirt from my bedroom and had washed it. When she subsequently started
ironing it she discovered a mangled pack of cigarettes in the pocket. I
don’t remember what punishment I received for that, but believe it was
tempered by the fact that I had been in hospital.
Hopefully seeing the photograph
and reading this will inspire someone with a better memory than me to write
in with a more detailed account of what took place.... Bob Fletcher, Dec
2005
