From Cassell’s “Penny Pictorial”
By Ralph Allen
When my friend suggested a camping holiday, I negatived the idea instantly. In fine weather camping was jolly enough, I knew; but in wet weather there were discomforts which I was not prepared to put up with. I did not like the notion of a guy-rope giving way or a tent-peg coming out and letting the tent down on me while I was asleep; still less did I fancy the rain soaking through the canvas and dripping on me, or little rivulets creeping under the tent and soaking my blankets, and perhaps making known to me the pains of rheumatism. All these things I told him.
He only laughed, and pointed to a little enamel badge he wore on the lapel of his coat. On the badge was printed the words ”Holiday Camp, Douglas” and it bore a representation of a bell-tent decorated with the Manx Coat of Arms.
“Come with me to the holiday camp,” my friend said; “and if at the end of your holiday you do not confess that you have spent the time of your life, I will pay all your expenses.”
This seemed so reasonable that I agreed. Accordingly I sent along postal orders as payment for a fortnight’s board and lodging and received by the first possible post a camp ticket, which bore the number of my tent. My friend also applied at the same time in the same envelope, and was allotted to the same tent as myself, as requested.
My chum was with me when I packed up. He told me I must take my own towel, boot cleaning materials, and brushes and similar toilet necessaries. He also tossed aside my dress-suit with the remark that I should not want that, as there were no formalities at the camp, and anyway we were going to live in the open air and sleep under canvas, and not footle away all the time kicking up dust in a ballroom.
It was the beginning of June when we arrived at the Victoria Pier, Douglas. We got into a charabanc which was waiting, and for four pence were conveyed with our luggage to the camp.
I was amazed at what I saw when we got there. It was a veritable city of canvas, and the largest holiday camp in the world. Had it been in America it would have been boomed up to the skies, and I should have read a lot about it in magazines. As it was British, however, it had been left to lucky chance to bring me here.
Long lines of tents were stretched out on the greensward. There were hundreds and hundreds of tents. It looked as though an invading army occupied the land. And I discovered that this was true, but it was a very peaceful army of over two thousand happy holidaymakers, men and youths, enjoying themselves for every minute of the day.
As we had our camp ticket and the tent number, we were able to proceed to our tent without undue delay and drop our baggage. Then we went back to the dining room, and, seizing on the first waiter we met, were soon sitting down to a most sumptuous meal of ham and eggs and tea and bread-and-butter. All new arrivals are provided with a good meal in this way. There is absolutely no trouble about it at all. The first waiter you see will procure it for you immediately.
That is one of the good points of the camp – it makes a good start and a very favourable impression by at once looking after the comforts of the inner man. I know I appreciated that meal, and I am sure all other campers do so too. And the welcome we got from Mr Cunningham made me feel at home instantly. It was as though we were old friends.
The wonders of the camp were borne upon me later. The camp itself overlooks the bright blue sea, and a better site cannot be imagined. From various points fine views of Douglas and the harbour present themselves to your enraptured gaze. Between the rows of tents on the camping ground are asphalt paths which keep your boots dry in rainy weather; and as for the tents themselves, they are bell-shaped, and each is provided with wooden flooring. I was glad to put foot on the floor, in my own tent, for it did away with any idea of dampness; and as soon as I entered my canvas abode, another of my objections to camping was removed, for I saw that I was provided with a camp bed to sleep in, and that I was not expected to lie on the ground.
Of course there were certain rules and regulations which we had to observe. We had to make our own beds and keep the tent tidy – not much of a hardship that; on the other hand, it proved to be fine fun, and gave me a sense of independence which was good to experience. I thought it rather jolly to look after myself in this way and clean my own boots.
Every night the camp the bugler sounded “lights out,” and during the day the same welcome bugle called us to meals. Sentries patrol the camp all night until 6 o’clock in the morning, which was looked upon as getting up time. It is bad form to talk or make a noise between “lights out” and 6 o’clock, because it disturbs the other campers. As a rule, I was so tired that I fell asleep long before ”Lights out,” so I had no inclination to talk afterwards. Most of the other campers were the same.
Considering that there were over two thousand men gathered together in one spot, I was agreeably struck by the good behaviour of everyone. There was not a vestige of horseplay.
We had heaps of fun and made friends with all. Indeed, one of the things which has endeared the camp to me was the friendliness I met with all round. Everybody was sociable and jolly, and did his best to make everyone else jolly too. The camp badge had a lot to do with this. It was a fine friend-maker. Wherever I saw it in Douglas, or elsewhere, I had no hesitation about entering into conversation with a wearer, and many an interesting chat I had. No introduction was necessary; the badge itself was introduction enough. Needless to add, I bought a badge the first morning I spent in the camp. It cost me thruppence, and the money was well spent.
We had all our meals served in a great dining room, which I am told is one of the biggest in existence. I can quite believe it, for it seats 2,400 at once, so you can imagine the size of it. As for the food itself, it was excellent in quality, and there was plenty of it. There was no stinting it. At the camp you can eat as much as ever you want and the bigger appetite you have the better they like you.
As a proof of what is provided, I will just mention the menu for the day. At breakfast there was porridge and milk, eggs and bacon, white and brown bread, butter, jam, marmalade, and tea.
For dinner, which is served between 1 and 2 p.m. we had kidney soup, roast beef, potatoes, vegetables and bread, and finished up with plum pudding. Tea, at 5 o’clock, was ham and various cold meats, white and brown bread, butter, lettuce, jam, pastry, cake and tea.
Supper, served between 10 and 11:20 p.m., was brown or white bread, butter, cheese, jam, marmalade, and coffee.
Every day the menu was varied. The palate was not jaded with the same kind of food day after day. The variety was one the most appetising features about the food. How so much can be given for the small sum is a thing which puzzles me. If you were paying five times as much at an up-to-date hotel you could not fare better.
The way in which this army of holidaymakers was fed and looked after was a revelation to me. You can guess it must be no small task to feed over two thousand men every day, yet so efficient is the catering and waiting staff that the task of feeding seems to be quite easy.
The camp has its own bake house, and here work never ceases for one minute of the day or night. There are three staffs of bakers working in eight-hour shifts, and the baking of bread goes on continuously. The sacks of flour that are turned into dough and baked into bread and the mounds of loaves that are consumed, seem past all counting. Always there is another meal to prepare for, and always the bakers are hard at it providing their share towards it. And very nice bread it is, too; I suppose that this is why so much is eaten.
The camp has also its own laundry, where the bedclothes of the campers are washed and dried, and the table-linen is made to look like driven snow. Think of the labour here – sheets and blankets for over two thousand beds, and goodness knows how many table-clothes.
Then this canvas city has its own post-office, which is a most necessary adjunct, for unless things were properly managed, it would be no light work seeing that all the visitors in camp receive their letters safely. So the letters themselves have to bear on the envelope the recipient’s name, the name of the town he hails from, his registered number, and the number of his tent. For instance, a letter would be addressed thus: –”Mr. X.Y. Smith, of Tooting, London, Registered No. 1694, tent No. 536, The Holiday Camp, Douglas, I.O.M.”
To resume about the wonders of the camp. It has five dark-rooms for the use of photographers; there is a concert hall with a fine stage, where a special entertainment is given every Thursday Tea, and the townsfolk are admitted. The proceeds, it may be mentioned, go to charities.
Naturally, too, the camp has its own orchestra to play sweet music at meal-times and to lend its aid to the camp sing-songs, on which occasions the talented ones of the camp come to the fore and entertain their less gifted brother campers.
Another point that stands out is that the camp has three fully qualified butchers who do nothing but cut up joints as hard as they can go from one day’s end to another. Then in the kitchen there are two machines which can wash and dry about 12,000 dishes an hour, and these have a lot to do with the smooth working of the catering.
Then the campers are indeed privileged persons on the Isle of Man. They are transported from place to place on excursions at fares considerably lower than charged to less favoured mortals.
When you go on these excursions you have but to give notice, and sandwiches are prepared for the trip. This is of some importance to those who are not overburdened with wealth, for it saves a great deal of money in not having to buy meals when you are away from camp. In the ordinary way the food eaten on picnics and excursions add so much to the expenditure that in many cases the cost of living is actually doubled; but all this outlay is unnecessary at the camp, which provides the sandwiches, in lieu of meals served in the ordinary way, in return for the exclusive fee for board.
One other thing, too, is worthy of mention. There is, at the camp, a bank for the convenience of visitors. When you first arrive you may lodge in the bank all your spare cash and valuables to be taken care of until you require them again. Everything is checked and a receipt for them is given in return.
Every day you may draw as much money as you want for the day’s expenses, which spares you the necessity of carrying all your cash about with you. It is the usual thing, too, to lodge the return half of your rail ticket in the bank, so there is no danger of mislaying it during your holidays. The popularity of the bank may be judged when it is known that last year over £30,000 was lodged in it by the campers.
Photo: Collection of J. Drower