Departure and Arrival in Brittany

That part of Brittany, Finistère, had so many beautiful beaches that I tried to find a new one each year. I drove the coach driver mad. However, once a good driver had been found he was always asked for the next year’s trip and it was a pleasure to see him roll up at the school gate at the appointed time.

Usually the coach left school late at night in order to get to Plymouth for the morning ferry at 08:00. After a toilet and then a breakfast stop at a motorway service station we had, if there was time, a walk on Plymouth Hoe. After leaving there, I began to organise the specific documentation needed ready for passport control.

Information required for a residential trip abroad was extensive: the child’s full name, date of birth, address, religion, father and mother’s name, and address if different from that of the child. What if there were guardians? What about same sex couples? Yes, all that! Then, emergency contact numbers and two persons who could be reached in the event of an emergency to act on their behalf were also required. Don’t forget the doctor’s name, address and telephone number. Any medical conditions? Please give details! What about travel insurance and coach company particulars?

For British children there was a collective passport. The names of the children, their date of birth, the town and country of birth and their town of residence were all required in full. The names of the leader and the deputy leader of the party and their passport numbers were needed. The leader of the party travelling on the collective passport was to be “fully apprised of his responsibilities under the European Agreement on travel by young persons.”

If all was correct, the collective passport was signed and stamped by the United Kingdom passport agency and sent to the school but occasionally an individual passport was required for a French, American or even a Lebanese child at the school. Everyone had to have an identity card, an alien concept in the U.K., which required further information and a photograph.

One year there were twenty six children on the collective passport and a day before the departure a parent asked to see me and then told me that the child didn’t want to come any more. He didn’t want to leave home. I spoke to the child and it was true. The authorities had to be notified. Thank God for the school secretaries who handled all this bureaucracy.

Passing through customs highlighted differences in approach between the French and the British. The British side was much more thorough, both going and returning. Random bags could be taken from the boot of the coach and the children asked to identify them. Once this was done they were opened and searched. A teacher was always in attendance.

On the return journey immigration officers might board the coach and ask a few questions to the group such as whether any of them had any pets on board or were any of them carrying dangerous weapons. Just as well no one blurted out, “Yes, I am. It’s a fair cop gov.” I didn’t mention any confiscated penknives.

French controls were much less stringent and it was only when there was industrial action that long delays occurred. One year all the cases had to be taken off the coach, walked through customs - all of fifteen metres - and then put back on.

The ferry journey from Plymouth to Roscoff took six hours and the first thing we did was to head for the reclining seats lounge at the front of the ferry. Once there the staff sat at tables just outside. If the group was a sleeping group so much the better. If not, then if the weather was good the children could go on deck accompanied by an adult. So, some slept, some read, some took the fresh air – some did all three.

At dinnertime we all went together to the self service restaurant. Identification of the children was made easy by them having to wear the school sweat shirt. This was worn on the outward and return journey. If anyone needed the toilet they would have to convince two other children to accompany them.

One year, a boy returning from the toilet played on the gambling machines – a cardinal offence outlined to all at a Brittany evening for parents and children before the visit. In went the ten pence. The first I knew of it was when an announcement came over the public address system calling for the leader of the party to go the purser’s office. The boy, when seen there, was rightly mortified and he was sent back to the lounge with reclining seats. When the boy was gone, the purser laughed and announced, “He won the jackpot.”

What happened to the money? State secret, I’m afraid.