We Took My Sister-in-Law and Her Toddler on a Traditional British Seaside Camping Holiday—A Thousand…

Many years ago, my husband and I took a seaside holiday in England. For several summers, wed ventured to the coast with dear friends, each of us packing our own cars. We considered ourselves seasoned campers, choosing a quiet stretch of the English coastline, and pitching our tents together. By day, we swam and basked on the pebbled beach; at night, wed gather round a small fire, my husband strumming the guitar while we sang old folk songs and sipped dry white wine from our tin cups.

That year, my sister-in-law, Abigail, joined us, bringing her little boy, Jonathan, who was just past two. We hesitated over whether to invite them, but eventually let ourselves be persuaded. In hindsight, surprisingly enough, little Jonathan was no trouble; it was Abigail who brought us headaches.

The trouble began on the way. Abigail insisted we stop every hourshe was tired and wanted to have a stretch. It meant we arrived dreadfully late; our friends were already settled in, tents up, and had managed a dip before wed even finished unloading.

Once we finally arrived, the second ordeal began. Abigail was livid.

“I won’t stay here!” she declared.

“Why not? You do remember we said wed be camping,” I replied.

“I thought that meant wed sort out accommodation when we arrivedlike booking a room somewhere,” she snapped back.

“Why do you imagine we brought sleeping bags and tents?” my husband grumbled, barely containing his frustration.

“I assumed you liked the idea of tents for fun,” she muttered.

There was nothing for itwe rented her a modest room in the nearby village. My husband became her personal chauffeurfetching her to our camp by day, then driving her back each evening. On top of it all, he took her to cafés and the high street, and kept an eye on Jonathan whenever Abigail needed a break from what she called her work.

Mind you, we all spent time with Jonathan. He was the easiest of companionsgentle, content to splash in the shallows, snack on what we fed him, nap peacefully in a tent through the afternoon. Nothing like his mother. Next summer, theres no questionwe wont bring Abigail again. But I wouldnt mind Jonathans company in a heartbeat, so long as his parents would allow it. The little lad was born for camping life.