Coach Trip

School Trips were always a welcome interruption to the educational treadmill. There was real excitement and anticipation in seeing the roadway in front of the school gates either marked out with traffic cones to deter parents from ejecting their children whilst still in a forward gear or with an actual parked bus or coach. Not just an ordinary vehicle but often in the gawdy livery of a tour company, smart seats and lots of nozzles, switches and ashtrays to fiddle with during the journey.

The run-up to a trip was always a bit difficult because it meant giving a slip of paper and a demand for money to parents. Looking back, an all in cost of £4.50 for transport, packed lunch and a ticket for an England International Football match at the old Wembley Stadium was extraordinary value but in 1974 it was a small fortune, equivalent to a pair of shoes or a weekly domestic shop.

Trips were always non-uniform. This gave me a problem because although properly kitted out I was not the most up to date in fashions and trend- truthfully, never have been and never will be. In the 70's the lads wore their multi pocketed Oxford Bags, high buttoned waist band like a cumberbund, flared legs and an attitude to match. The lasses would go for slacks and jumpers, a bit like a cover girl for Mandy Magazine. Tartan was a major theme from the ascendancy of the boy band of the time, The Bay City Rollers. I went for smart trousers, polo type shirt and a cardigan or a tank top.

So attired the queue waiting to board the bus, in some case being physically held back by the already harrassed driver or an unfortunate designated responsible person resembled that for a disco or saturday cinema club. As soon as the concertina doors of the bus opened there was a mad dash for the occupancy of the back seat. I usually ambled on later and got to sit behind the driver or next to a teacher.

The back seat was a den of subversive activities such as snogging, necking and the occasional love bite hickey. Traffic stuck behind the bus or alongside was fair game for a two finger salute, sticky out tongues or worse and potentially a moonie against the windows. That was just the girls of the back seat squatters. The narrow upper sliding windows to the sides of the bus were regularly used to dump sweet and sandwich wrappers, cans and bottles onto the verge or intentionally into the path of a vehicle which did not acknowledge the waves and gestures of an unruly and sugar infused crowd of pupils.

I was well behaved on the bus because of where I was sat and also because of travel sickness. The pill based medecine proved ineffective and it was a case of sneaking aboard a newspaper for sitting on which although of no proven science did work very well psychologically.

Actual venues for trips are largely forgotten although I do remember a very long journey to a zoo, a castle in some cathedral city ( suggestions by e mail please) and a factory where they made potato crisps.The latter was much anticipated but when I saw them shovelling the dry flavouring powder onto the hot oil coated potato slivers I was mightily disappointed. I am not sure how I expected the process operated but surely not from the end of a shovel.

My last school trip was to Eureka, the childrens museum in the bottom of the valley which is the Yorkshire town of Halifax.

As usual there was a clamour for places on the coach but with the introduction of seat belts there was little scope for ranging about above seat headrest height. In the Health and Safety culture we were given a briefing on behaviour and other things loosely and cringingly called 'housekeeping'. We had of course been respectfully requested to surrender  any glass bottles, fizzy carbonated drinks, alcohol and tobacco products, mobile phones and electronic games. The atmosphere was accordingly a bit subdued and with the murmur of polite conversation akin to an old peoples outing.

I had thought of starting up with a rendition of  'stop the bus I want a wee-wee' but it felt unlikely that anyone would take up the mantra and run with it. There was the faint rustling of greaseproof paper from meticulously prepared pack-up lunches following on from the guidance of the school about not missing out on the required 5 a day nutrients.

We parked up at the museum. A wonderful place with interactive displays and the sponsorship of the main features by large Corporations and Brand Names. I ran about madly with a trolley in the supermarket and dashed about between the human body section. There was too much to do to think about sitting down for lunch and I skipped it to dismantle a car and its wheels in the Kwik-Fit garage. There was some educational content, unfortunately, but I found the worksheets and quizzes pretty easy.

By mid afternoon I was exhausted but happy. The gift shop was the last stopping off point and I blew all my moneys on a pencil and pad. We were all counted back onto the bus, no strays, and it strained under its full contingent up the valley sides from the town centre and towards the motorway. I was soon comfortable and settled amongst the brightly coloured upholstery, the right temple of my head resting on the cool and periodically jarring window as we encountered rough patches of tarmac. Cars, lorries and vans flashed by in the middle and fast lanes. The motion and warmth lulled me into a deep sleep.

I was rudely awoken by a jolt as the bus parked up outside the school. Bleary eyed and a bit muscle cramped I stretched and looked at my ten year old son . The other parents who had volunteered to help out and supervise on the school trip regarded me with disdain.

I was not asked to help out ever again.