The Big Sleepover

Maeve Mulgrew

"Eve, thank God, I thought you were a teacher for a moment there" "I am a teacher," a voice boomed from above. I shrank back into the depths of the tent. I waited for a few moments, and then drew back the tent canvas, only to look straight into the face of the intruder. It was Mrs Lowie; stout, diminutive, with similarities to a hamster, glaring at me with her do-good reproach. I almost laughed with relief. Eve rolled her eyes and grinned.

As midnight progressed to one, torchlight's were still patrolling the fortress of children. The wearied yells of teachers were still abounding as the euphoric effect of sweets fuelled the late night mischief. My friends and I tried in vain to get some respite. One friend in particular, Ellie, frequently needed the loo. I was elected to go with her to the toilet, nearly fifty yards away, in the cold seizure of the night. On our first visit, we were promptly met by a moody, sleep deprived teacher, barking along the lines of "who goes there?" We explained and were cautiously allowed on our way.

During the hour of slumber I managed, I was awoken by the deafening screech of what sounded like a cockerel being strangulated. When I listened closely I realised it was a girl in my year, telling everyone to "wake up!" at two in the morning. And so my hopes of a good sleep were diminished.

By what seemed the hundredth time I trudged outside with Ellie, it was drawing near daybreak; the saturnine sky was now etched with glimmers of sunlight. In my pyjama shorts and woolly jumper, I greeted my headmaster, Mr McKenna, with a faint "hello." My headmaster looked as dead as death itself. His face had wilted and was no longer animated with the normal enthusiasm.

"Why are you two girls not asleep yet?" We had no need to reply, everyone else was awake. Come four o'clock and the entire year group were outside roaming in the sunlit landscape. The teacher's tents, however, were firmly zipped up.

The coarse frost from the night still lingered but everyone preferred it to the stuffiness of the tents.

We had to wait until seven o'clock before any teacher was willing to serve us breakfast, consisting of a cheese roll and a grilling for the antics of the night before.

After breakfast we were going to walk six miles, across field and muck, back to school, as we had done the day before. My backpack was now lighter, but I was living on one hours sleep. From nine o'clock till noon, the countryside was littered with a stream of marching children, solemn and irritable, a hundred and fifty in number, gradually nearing the gates of North Berwick High School.

When it came to the day of the camping trip, I was not quite sure what to be expecting. After registration, we all gathered in the canteen to await instructions from the teachers. Most of the people there were wearing sensible clothing; tracksuit bottoms, non-descript tee-shirts; although it has to be confessed that there were a few non-conformers. The fashion worshipping girls were adorned in pashminas and enormous shades, covering large expanses of make-up consumed face.

By the time we got there, at around one o'clock, everyone, without caring to look around, sprawled across the grass, and remained there for some time stewing in the midday sun. The first task assigned to us, when we showed life signs, was to put up the tents. I had never put up a tent before and with no instructions included with the equipment, I was flummoxed. An hour later, the teachers, displayed on their foldable chairs, whittled our time with sundry games such as 'make a catapult' and 'find the biggest, bestest leaf.'

We had two casualties from the long and hazardous day. One girl, Megan, fainted with sunstroke, whilst yet another girl complained of being homesick, both were dutifblly sent home, thankfully by car, not foot. The 'games' the teachers had plotted to keep us busy dwindled and we were allowed to pile onto the beach adjoining our campsite. Running along the beach was a steep sand dune, which suited as a gymnasium for our death defying stunts. The acrobatics varied on ability, from meagre somersaults in the air to triple backward flips. The supposed end to the day's events was at the camp fire sing- along, where we sang 'Yellow Submarine' accompanied by guitar.

As I tore into my leftover cheese roll, my eyelids began to droop; my mum would be coming to collect me soon. I suddenly had the realisation of what a ridiculous day it had been.