Two evenings and two and half days spent with a group of online companions with [...]
A Trip to RememberCreated by Jane in Jane Lawson's Blog
الخيارات الثنائية المنتديات وسيط اسهم دبي العالميه I generally write about recent events in my life, but my daughter-in-law’s recent school journey with sixty eleven year olds, reminded me of a rather memorable experience nearly forty years ago.
الخيارات الثنائية 2017 The year was 1974, the school was in Peckham and 30 of the 38 ‘top juniors’ who wanted to go on a school journey to Sandown for which there were just 30 places, had been picked out of the hat. That left eight. And then, the headteacher having one of his bright ideas, suggested that a colleague and myself took the eight on a Youth Hosteling trip to the Peak District ‘because he and I were young and energetic.’
تقلب الخيار ضمنا ثنائي Now these eight had never walked more than the distance to the local shops and they never spent a night away from their Mums and they had never left Peckham. But, they assured us, they were up for the great adventure.
هنا Accordingly, one sunny June morning we departed from the safety of South London to the terrifying wilds of Derbyshire. The terrors were very real starting with the tube to St Pancras, continuing with the train, compounded by the trials of manoeuvring a rucksack and reached their peak at the sight of muddy footpaths and sheep alarmingly close to the hostel.
http://www.fiv5starhousecleaning.com/?rabiny=%D8%AA%D8%AF%D8%A7%D9%88%D9%84-%D9%85%D8%A8%D8%A7%D8%B4%D8%B1-%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%A7%D8%B3%D9%87%D9%85&4e3=fc Still, they were jolly Londoners and a hearty tea soon cheered them up and we went fairly happily to our bunk beds ready for the long treks to come.
اضغط هنا للمزيد Some of the children were more resilient than others and poor Maureen suffered the most. She was sturdily built and was possessed of a voice to match. But sadly, her stamina gave out each day, a couple of miles along the route to the next hostel. She would park her substantial bottom on a stone and announce that she could go no further and every day, her bluff had to be called as the rest of us disappeared over the next hill and waited for a wailing Maureen to catch us up.
الإنترنت The penultimate evening, after dinner, the four girls and I sat quietly in our room, the peace only punctuated by the sound of busy pencils as they wrote up their diaries. Suddenly, there came a scream fit to waken the dead as Maureen reached out to borrow a rubber and tumbled from the top bunk. She declared, between sobs, that she had broken her arm.
‘Nonsense’ said I ‘let me see’. And as I touched her arm I felt two halves of the bone grind together.
Later, after the ambulance arrived at almost midnight, we arranged that I should accompany Maureen, and Rob would stay with the rest. The driver gave me the choice of going to Manchester or Sheffield. I chose Sheffield as it was a whisker closer to London.
And, after the plaster had been applied I was told that I could depart.
I shall be ever grateful to the nurse who let me sleep in his bed for a few hours before I negotiated the perilous journey back to Peckham with a beplastered Maureen and only enough money for the train, rehearsing in my head what I would say to her parents.
Maureen will be in her 40s now. I sometimes wonder if she remembers.
http://anthonypayne.org.uk/?pimas=%D8%B4%D8%B1%D8%A7%D8%A1-%D8%B3%D8%A8%D8%A7%D8%A6%D9%83-%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%B0%D9%87%D8%A8-%D9%81%D9%8A-%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%B3%D8%B9%D9%88%D8%AF%D9%8A%D8%A9&ede=d7 Jane Lawson