Weekend Camp Poem!

29 June 2020

A Poem we loved about us going camping, we think it sums up a weekend camp with us perfectly!

When we decide to go camping, with the 44th,
It always seems to be freezing, wind blowing from the north,
But it doesn’t really matter, if the weather forecast is rough,
Coz the 44th Scouts, are really really tough.


Friday night getting ready, meet at the church car park,
Got to get away early, get the tents up before dark,
Everyone is all packed, kit in their rucksack,
The smaller is the Scout, the bigger is the pack.


Then off we go to Fordell, everyone high as a kites,
Away for an adventure, it’s only for two nights,
Arriving at the campsite, first thing the tents to pitch,
This will be so easy, it’ll go without a hitch.


But two hours later, pitched tents we seem to lack,
One seems to be erected, but the door is at the back,
Another’s on the ground, that’s as far as they have got,
They remembered to take pegs, but a mallet they forgot.


A little help from the leaders, and the tents are soon up,
Get your beds all laid out, come to the centre with your cup,
It’s time for supper, butter and jam on sliced bread,
It’s a full on day tomorrow, so everyone off to bed.


Midnight and from all the tents, there’s still a lot of noise
Thought the girls would be quiet, but they’re louder than the
boys,
Girls to share a secret, you’ve got to share it low,
Coz the leaders stand outside, all your secrets we now know.

One AM a leader check, to see everyone’s asleep,
It’s all gone really quiet, we cannot hear a cheep,
Are the Scouts all sleeping, don’t believe your luck,
In sleeping bags with torches, eating all their tuck.


But pretty soon it’s morning, time to rise and shine,
Bleary eyed Scouts emerging, they can’t believe the time,
Cereal, bacon and toast, and even eggy bread,
Nobody can say, our Scouts don’t get well fed.


But always there is one, arrives for breakfast late,
Tears in their eyes, he cannot find his plate,
It’s very simple to know, why the plate is lacking,
Lazy and decided, to let mum do the packing.


Activities are all planned, climbing crates and caving,
Archery and grass sledges, and maybe even abseiling,
Poles and ropes and lashings, some pioneering erection,
But comes the bit you dread, of course the tent inspection.


We know each tent will be as tidy, as your bedroom is at home,
Some will be really messy, some look like they’ve dropped a
bomb,
And some will have a way, of keeping out bugs and ants,
At the door sweaty socks, and a pair of underpants.


Some free time after dinner, then wide games we will play,
Manhunt is a favourite, when you hide yourselves away,
Then after dark it’s campfire, some sketches, songs and tricks,
Marshmallows getting toasted, or cremated on long sticks.
Second night and bedtime, very different from day one,

Which Scout wants their bed, every single one,
Everything seems quiet, but not like the first night,
Coz all the Scouts are sleeping, all out like a light.


Second morning after breakfast, time to pack your kit,
Your sleeping bag in it’s stuff sack, it doesn’t seem to fit,
After everything is packed, there’s always some spare clothes,
Who do they belong to, no Scout ever knows.


Then time to head back home, in the same clothes that you
came in,
You think you don’t smell, but I’ll tell you are hummin’,
What did you think of the camp, the answers always the same,
It was really rubbish, can we please do it again.