I’ve been reading some reminiscences of camping and caravaning in a bygone age, from the posthumous collection of the writings of Ruth drew. Ruth was born in 1908, and sadly died very much before her time, but her life seems one of happiness and adventure – adventure in the widest sense! She seems such a jolly person, and very endearing and wrote about things so vividly.

I can’t tell you about any startling adventures we had. I know we might have seen the famous white stag they told us about in the village… we might have glimpsed one of the huge wild cats which prowl the heathery heights inshore… we might have taken a boat and visited the dreamy islands which look so romantic jagging the distant skyline over the sea. But in fact we stayed for hours by our own sea loch, sniffing the salty flowery air, watching the heron or the tree creepers or the oyster catchers, swimming round the silver rocks in peachy sunshine and coming back to the caravan to cook a great dish of curry in the clear light of a June evening…

Ruth was camping in a different world… no-one these days would dig their own latrines, even if they were allowed to! Nor dig a hole as a rubbish pit, sprinkle it with  some sort of disinfecting powder, and use it to bury flattened tins and other rubbish, let alone burn it on a camp fire!

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