Is it time to bring the school tour back home?

Brid is immersed in nostalgia. She throws her eyes heavenwards at our search for a destination that will please all in the annual school tour stakes. Dublin is out, they've all been there, done that and have no interest in going back for the t-shirt. Kerry is too far and I just know the west would be a little too wild for our particular band of apaches. Brid was a pioneer in the area of tours way back when. In a time when cars were enough to have children running to the school wall in anticipation, a trip on a bus was, by today's standards, comparable to setting forth for the Grand Canyon. Such was the excitement that eventually a general invitation was extended to parents, grannies and anyone with a link, however tenuous, to the school. She describes the excitement as they headed for the capital, in a time when the majority of children had ventured no farther than a small local town. One adventurer had been as far as Athlone and regaled the others with tales of its delights.

The part that stopped in our tracks those of us who are used to Brid and her ramblings was the description of the eating arrangements. Forget your trip to Supermacs or even your packed lunch, fizzy drink and packet of crisps. We found the idea of lighting a fire on the side of the road and boiling a kettle like something from hedge-school days. We questioned Brid's lucidity and ascertained that she hadn't been sniffing the thick markers again before taking this particular piece of local history on board.

And, unlike today's trips, which cause little or no excitement or wonder, this adventure was a thrill to old and young, to sit and picnic and savour something that was truly novel. No matter where we suggest as a destination for this year's tour, I'll wager that someone will groan that they have been there and that it's boring. When you can spend a fortnight in Majorca for little along with the price of a bicycle, who are we kidding in trying to arrange excursions for our young sophisticates? Maybe we'd be better off making the day designated for our travels as a kind of living history day. A trip exploring the wonders of our own area, the bogs, the monastic ruins and the Shannon. Maybe they can't see the trees for the wood around our area. And, yes, there is a Supermacs in the vicinity, but would we be brave enough (and well enough insured) to go all the way and brew up?