How to Survive Summer Camp (7 page)

Karen sniffled as she wrote her letter. She kept looking at me. I was sure she was writing horrid things about me to her mother.

My own letter took me ages. Mum had given me some special airmail letters already addressed to these foreign hotels. By the time I’d written all about the swimming lessons and how unfair it was and how I hated Uncle Ron and Miss Hamer-Cotton I’d used up nearly all the room. So I just added, ‘I have a friend called Marzipan (funny name but she’s nice) and one of the boys isn’t bad but Karen and Louise are
pigs
and they ate my chocolate, Love from Stella.’

Miss Hamer-Cotton collected our letters for posting and handed out activity sheets.

‘Fill them up carefully, girls, in your neatest writing. How are you feeling, Karen? You’ve got your colour back now. I think you’ll be fit for the hike. We’re meeting downstairs in the hall at half past two. Wear your comfiest shoes, it’s quite a walk to Hampton Hill.’

‘Do we have to go, Miss?’ asked Janie. ‘I don’t like long walks. They’re boring. Me and my friend would sooner play here in the bedroom.’

Miss Hamer-Cotton smiled stupidly as if Janie was joking and didn’t even bother to answer her.

I concentrated on my activity sheet. I didn’t want to do judo or climbing or five-a-side football or rounders or rambling or mime or music. I didn’t want to BMX bike or box. I didn’t want to play chess or computer games. I didn’t know what macramé was but I was sure I didn’t want to do it. I certainly didn’t want to swim. About all that was left was Art. I didn’t mind doing Art so I put Art again and again, morning and afternoon, on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.

‘You can’t do that,’ said Marzipan. ‘It says so on the back of the paper, look. You have to do four different activities each day. And you’ve got to fit in two swimming sessions a week as well.’

‘I’ll make out I haven’t read the back of the paper,’ I said quickly.

I felt a bit worried when I handed my activity sheet to Miss Hamer-Cotton but she was too busy getting us all organized for the hike to notice. She kept saying it was going to be such fun—but she didn’t actually go on the hike herself, I noticed. I bet she put her feet up all afternoon and watched the telly.

Uncle Ron was in charge. He was in his ghastly grey tracksuit again, with a large orange haversack bobbing up and down on
his back. He had a whole load of student Uncles and Aunties to help keep an eye on us. They were mostly sad and spotty and had silly names like Jimbo and Jilly. They ushered us through the woods, past the dreaded swimming pool, and along by the stream and across the meadows towards the dismally distant brown hummock of Hampton Hill.

I lagged behind with Marzipan. Alan walked with us, whipping at the bushes with a long snappy stick. It made a wonderful swishing sound. Marzipan jumped every time he did it.

‘Let me have a go with your stick, Alan, please,’ I begged.

I kept on at him until he gave in and handed it over.

‘Right, start cowering, everyone,’ I said, snapping the stick. ‘This is when I start to get my own back. Do you hear me, Karen-Copycat and Louise Lavatory? Lash lash lash. And you can watch out too, Uncle Pong, if you try and get me in that pool again it’ll be lash lash lash for you too.’

‘Stella, mind. You very nearly cut me. And keep your voice down, he’ll hear,’ Marzipan whispered.

‘I’m not scared of him, not now I’m armed,’ I said, lashing.

I lashed a bit too loudly and Uncle Ron noticed.

‘Hey you, Stella! Watch what you’re doing, for goodness’ sake. You’ll have someone’s eye out if you’re not careful.’ He came jogging up, seized the stick, and snapped it into matchsticks.

‘Charming,’ Alan muttered.

I looked at him guiltily.

‘Let’s have a song to help us on our way,’ Uncle Ron shouted so that everyone could hear. ‘How about “Ten Green Bottles”?’

I can’t stand that song. I don’t see why on earth anyone would want to hang those silly green bottles on a wall. I didn’t join in. Marzipan and Alan didn’t either. When there was only one green bottle left Uncle Ron and the Jimbos and Jillys were the only ones left singing.

‘Come on, you lot, you can do better than that,’ Uncle Ron complained. ‘I know, we’ll divide you up into your teams.’

He taught us this special Evergreen team song. It was even sillier than ‘Ten Green Bottles’.

‘Jade, Emerald, Olive, and Lime

We are the teams that tick to time.

Lime, Olive, Emerald, and Jade

We are the teams that can’t be swayed.

So which of the greens is the best team out?

Open your mouths and let’s hear you SHOUT.’

And then the Limes yelled Lime. The Olives yelled Olive. The Jades yelled Jade. And we were supposed to yell Emerald. Only I didn’t. And Alan didn’t either. Marzipan pretended, opening her mouth wide, but she didn’t make any noise.

Then Uncle Ron organized a team singing contest. The Emeralds were set against the Jades. We had to sing ‘Half a
Pound of Tuppenny Rice’ and they had to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ and we had to see which tune won. Alan and I decided to sing our own song instead. We sang ‘We Are The Champions’ very loudly indeed. ‘We Are The Champions’ won and Uncle Ron got cross.

Louise and Karen and some of the other Emeralds weren’t just cross with us, they were furious. They hung back until Uncle Ron and the Jimbos and Jillys and the other children were in the woods at the bottom of Hampton Hill and then there was a fight. There was a lot of pushing and shoving. The child with the donkey got in the way by mistake and was knocked over.

‘Watch out! You’ve hurt my friend!’ Janie shouted.

We stopped fighting and stared at the child with the donkey. She got up slowly, rubbing herself.

‘She’s OK,’ said Richard, and seized Alan in a hammerlock.

The little girl stood very still, her face crumpling. She was looking at her donkey. He had been knocked out of her arms. He’d fallen into a huge cowpat. The little girl stared. The donkey stared miserably back, his glass eyes smeared, his soft furry coat dark with dung.

‘
H
er donkey!’ Janie yelled. ‘It’s gone in all the cow’s thingy, look!’

We all stared. The child without her donkey stuck out her arm desperately. Karen caught hold of her.

‘No, don’t! It’s
covered.
You can’t.’

The child started crying. She didn’t make a sound. Tears just gathered in her eyes and then spilled silently.

‘It’ll be all germy now. And it smells,’ Janie said, putting her arm round her. ‘It can’t be helped. Tell you what. I’ll let you share my blue teddy.’

‘Come on. We’ll get into trouble. The others have been out of sight for ages,’ said Louise. ‘Pull her along, Janie, she’ll come with you.’

But she wouldn’t. She stood beside the cowpat, trembling.

‘Come on, little girl. Come with us,’ said Karen, trying to help Janie.

The child ducked away from both of them, crying harder when Karen clung.

‘Leave her, Karen, you’re just making her worse,’ I said.

‘You can shut up for a start, Baldy. It was all your fault
anyway. If you and Alan hadn’t mucked about singing “We Are The Champions” then none of this would have happened. It was Alan who knocked her over, I saw,’ said Karen.

I think she was only guessing, but Alan went red. He looked at the child guiltily. His face screwed up.

‘Oh my giddy Aunt,’ said Alan. ‘Don’t cry like that. I’ll get your silly old donkey.’

He flexed his bare arm, bent down beside the cowpat and reached into it. He groaned as his fingers sank into the smelly mound but he caught hold of the donkey and pulled it free. His arm was bright brown. We all squealed and shuddered and the boys laughed. The child stared, still crying.

‘Try wiping it on the grass,’ I said.

Alan wiped and wiped. The worst of the sludge came off his arm but the donkey got even dirtier, grass and burrs clinging to his filthy fur.

‘Throw it away,’ said Louise. ‘Pooh, it stinks. You stink too, Alan. Come on, let’s catch up the others.’

She rounded everyone up, even Janie.

‘We’ve got to go or we’ll get left behind,’ Janie said, and she was nearly crying too. ‘Leave the donkey. Look, I’ll
give
you my blue teddy, I won’t even have a share in him, OK? Come on.’

The child hung back, staring at the donkey. Alan had dropped it on the ground and was rubbing at his arm with a dock leaf.

‘I can’t wait to have a wash,’ he said, holding his arm away
from him. He looked at the little girl. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t get it off him. We’ll have to dump poor old donkey.’

The child stared. I just couldn’t bear the way she was looking. I had to do something.

‘I’ll make your old donkey better again, you wait and see,’ I said. I took hold of him by one smelly old leg and started running back across the meadow.

‘Stella! Stella, you’re going the wrong way. Stella, come back,’ Marzipan shouted.

Someone else was shouting too. It was coming from the woods. It was Uncle Ron and he sounded angry.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

‘Oh help,’ said Karen.

‘Come on,’ said Louise, running towards the woods.

Karen and Richard and James and Bilbo started running too. Janie hung back, pleading with the child, but Karen came after her and pulled her away.

Marzipan called me again but I shook my head and went on running. I listened though and after a bit I heard people running after me. I grinned.

They caught me up right back by the stream, Marzipan and Alan and the little child.

‘What are you playing at, Stella? We’re going to get into awful trouble,’ Marzipan moaned.

I was too busy to take much notice. I was clinging to a large tuft of grass with one hand and dangling the donkey into the stream with the other. It was horribly cold and uncomfortable
and I was scared I’d slip right in and drown. It was almost as bad as the swimming pool but it couldn’t be helped. I had to wash all the muck off the donkey. My arm ached and went numb with cold but I went on swooshing him through the water. The child watched as he bucked and reared and galloped. She’d stopped crying.

‘Here, I’ll have a go,’ said Marzipan.

She was better at sluicing and squeezing. She kept holding the donkey up for inspection and he got cleaner and cleaner each time. When the water trickling from him was crystal clear she squeezed him out thoroughly. The child gasped as she twisted the donkey round and round.

‘It’s all right, I’m not hurting him,’ said Marzipan. ‘Here he is, then.’

She handed him over. The child sat on the bank and cradled the donkey. She wiped his eyes with the hem of her dress, she smelt him, she fingered his fur—and then she hugged him.

‘Careful, he’s still sopping wet,’ said Marzipan.

The child didn’t care. She hugged him tightly to her chest, rocking backwards and forwards.

‘It was my idea to wash him in the stream,’ I reminded her.

She smiled at me.

‘I think he liked his swim,’ I said. ‘What’s his name then?’

The little girl looked at me, her head on one side.

‘I know. It’s Eeyore,’ I said.

‘No, it’s not,’ said the little girl.