Summer Camp In The 1940’s & 50’s —An Old Man Remembers

by Robert Hanaford Smith, Sr.
Weirs Times Contributing Writer

“Would you like to go to camp this summer?” That was the question that was suddenly sprung on me one winter’s evening, the date being one I didn’t make note of, so don’t recall. I do remember the question and my immediate reaction and my not so immediate answer. Camp? Why should I go to summer camp? I am content to spend my summer here at home. I’m out here in the country where there are fields and woods to roam and explore, and family and friends to make me feel secure, so what is there about summer camp that should make me want to go? I didn’t really think that coherently, but that was probably what was behind my initial feeling after being asked if I wanted to attend summer camp- just for a week. I was told that I didn’t have to go, that it was up to me to decide, but I felt that I did have to go, because boys were supposed to want to go to camp, and I shouldn’t be afraid that I would be homesick because that wasn’t a good excuse, and would be an embarrassing one. So from my shrinking position from behind the small space between the kitchen wood stove and the wall, I said “yes” I would go.

The camp was a 4-H Camp at Bear Brook State Park in Allenstown, New Hampshire. My parents, one or both, I don’t remember which, many years ago, drove me to Allenstown and the camp entrance where we went from a paved road to a dirt one lined with pine trees which led to the entrance sign and the small registration building. My little bit of spending money I could use at the camp store was taken from me and put in an envelope and I think we were given cards where the amount we spent at the little store was punched out on the card. We took the things to the cabin I was assigned to and found that it housed half a dozen boys, more or less, with acceptable cots and mattresses to sleep on and were given directions to the dining hall, craft building, etc., all of which were of the rustic construction one would expect in a summer camp. We were given a schedule of events for the days ahead, which were a combination of classes involving 4-H activities and fun things to do, and my family was off for home. I will just mention the things that I remember the clearest, or at least think I do. My apprehension about being at camp for the most part did not curb my appetite and there was usually a crowd of hungry children waiting at the closed door of the dining room before each meal waiting to be fed. And someone would start singing “Here we are like birds in the wilderness, waiting to be fed,” and everyone else would join in and it would be repeated over and over until we were fed. We were served cafeteria style and would pick up our silverware (no plastic ware back then) before we arrived at the food tables. One day as I was waiting in line for my lunch I observed one of the kitchen helpers pick up a fork with which he proceeded to clean underneath his fingernails and then placed the fork back in the utensil tray. I was careful about where I took my fork and wondered whether I should be taking one at all.
Probably the favorite time of day for most of the campers was the swimming classes in the morning.

If I remember correctly, we had classes in the morning and an hour in the afternoon for swimming without instruction.
I went to camp as a non-swimmer, so swimming classes were something I needed, though there were limited results.
I’ve never forgotten the first lesson was to learn to do the dead-man’s float. It has always seemed a little ironic to me that laying head down in the water with my arms stretched out in front of me like a dead man was the first lesson in a class that was supposed to help me avoid that fate.
The first, however, was probably the easiest, and I went on to learn to do the dog paddle, which is swimming like a dog does, then to float on by back, and to swim like a frog, whatever that’s called. There was a floating raft in Bear Pond that was set up so the non-swimmers could be separated from the swimmers, and only swimmers who had passed a test on their swimming ability could go on the outer side of the raft into deeper water.

It was the goal for those of us who were beginner swimmers to receive our initial swimming certificate by doing the things we were taught during the week, including swimming in the deeper waters. I somehow passed the test.
When swimming we were required to have a buddy, and the instructor would periodically blow a whistle and we had to find our buddy and hold up our hands to show that we were safe. On the beach there was a board with tags with each of our names on one of them. We were asked to turn them over so our names faced the board when we began swimming and to turn them back when we finished. One evening after the evening meal when announcements were given in the dining hall a short list of names was read and mine was one of them. The camp director then asked those whose names were read to stand and informed us that our tags on the beach, which were to be turned around so the camp leaders would know we weren’t still in the pond, hadn’t been turned around and we were to go to the beach and correct our error. More irony, seeing the swimming period had ended some time earlier.

I liked the craft sessions but became frustrated because my products didn’t come out as good as some of the others. I think I pounded and pounded my flat piece of tin with a wood mallet over a mold trying to make it look like an appealing ash tray. Yes, we made ash trays back then for smokers. My ash tray was probably the best product I made in those few days, though. One day we had an unusual afternoon treat served in our area of the camp. One of the boys must have had a birthday and cake was served to those in our unit. It was one of those times when, for some reason, I didn’t feel like eating cake, but the in charge people wouldn’t believe that I didn’t want to eat cake, so I was persuaded to take a piece. I don’t think I refused cake often during my childhood, but I have found that there are some children that just don’t like to eat cake. The cabins had screens in the windows and the mosquitoes weren’t too pesky, but there was usually a little chatter amongst the boys before sleep came. One night one of the boys tried to make things humorous by calling the woman camp director some sort of name. Immediately a familiar woman’s voice came from outside the cabin admonishing us to be quiet. The voice was that of the camp director.
The evening vespers were a meaningful time for me, though that time of day is apt to bring on some melancholy. We would gather on a ledge over-looking the pond and sing 4-H songs and other camp songs, and some of the campers would show off their talents as the sun was setting and darkness began to set in. At the conclusion we sang taps and then sang a song with the words something like these: “Now run along home and jump into bed, say your prayers and cover your head. The very same thing I’ll say unto you, You dream of me, and I’ll dream of you.”