The Unitarian Holiday Camp

A Memory of Great Hucklow.

I was 10 when I was sent from my home in Bognor Regis to the Unitarian Church's holiday camp at Great Hucklow for three weeks. Since I was the only child from the south of England, I was frequently teased about my accent. I remember being miserable a lot of the time thinking that my parents had wanted to get rid of me. I even tried to run away up to the top of the hill where the gliders took off.
But now I can recall the positive things about the place: Washing my face every morning in the open air with fresh, cold spring water, visiting the Blue John Mine (where one child forgot to duck and scraped his head on the tunnel ceiling) 'mystery' bus trips to the incredibly beautiful countryside with its tumbling streams and rivers, all quite unlike the fields of Sussex I was used to.
I live in BC, Canada, and long to revisit the Great Hucklow area. One day I will do just that, but I'm prepared to be disappointed because of the changes that have taken place around my own Canadian home within the last 40 years.