Big Red

"So, you want to build a gingerbread cottage on the Nature Trail?"

"Yes. Just a temporary one. It's for my exciting new interactive Halloween event I have planned. I want to tell the children the story of Hansel and Gretel and have them actually discover this amazing house made of sweets and lollipops as we walk the trail. I want to inspire awe and wonder."

"I've got a shed, some off-cuts of wood and a bit of leftover paint."

"That'll do."

                                       *   *   *

A few days later saw myself, McColleague and Lovely Warden bringing these mundane entities together to create magic.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I think it looks amazing."

"Compared to the old Nursery Rhyme Trail a couple of garden gnomes and a plastic windmill would look amazing."

"True. But once we're in costume and the group are in the right frame of mind, I am quite sure this simple garden shed with painted bits of wood stuck to it will be utterly convincing as a magical gingerbread cottage in the woods. Don't look at me like that. It'll be fine."

The day of the event was a perfect October day, sunny and crisp. I planned to take three guided walks over the course of the afternoon, each one telling the tale of Hansel and Gretel.  I wanted it to be as interactive as possible, so the children were actually part of the story. So many guided walks and tours are hugely dull for adults, let alone children, and I wanted this to be anything but.

I was the story teller and guide, Big Red. I used to be Little Red Riding Hood, I informed the groups, but I grew. I had personal experience of these woods but not to worry, the big bad wolf wouldn't be bothering us today (at which point I showed them the wolf's head prop I had cunningly stashed in my wicker picnic basket.)

The picnic basket also contained a big bag of breadcrumbs which the children were encouraged to dip into so we could leave a trail just as Hansel and Gretel did and which would be obligingly eaten by ducks, sheep and, on at least one tour, a visitor's dog.

 McColleague was a part of each group, coming with us from the start, nonchalantly carrying a large shoulder bag. As we drew nearer the gingerbread shed I paused for a while in the orchard, to recreate Hansel and Gretel's fearful night in the woods. "Close your eyes," I instructed, "and listen. What sorts of noises can you hear? What sorts of noises do you think you might hear in the night?" Some of the children were entertainingly creative with their hoots, growls and comedy parps.

While all this was going on McColleague would leave the group and hurry on ahead to the shed, where she would complete an amazing transformation using only the contents of the big shoulder bag.




After sufficient time had passed I would move the group on to the next chapter of our story. Hansel and Gretel, tired and hungry, finally stumble across  a dwelling in a clearing. Hooray, they are saved! It looks like a shed, but no, it's a totally edible and completely realistic gingerbread house!

The children would eagerly gather round as I recounted the delight with which Hansel and Gretel broke off pieces of chocolate and biscuit and  gorged themselves silly. But what they didn't know was that in this house lived.....a witch!

And bang on cue McColleague would come flying out of the shed and chase the children, cackling madly. The kids never failed to shriek and run while their parents collapsed in laughter.

Eventually things would settle down again and we would finish the story, with Hansel being slowly fattened up and the short-sighted witch being fooled into thinking he was still too skinny to eat when he hands her a bone instead of his finger to squeeze through the bars of his cage. We re-enacted this with a small plastic dog bone from the pet shop as I didn't want to risk upsetting anybody with a real one.

The tale finally ended with clever Gretel tricking the witch and pushing her into her own oven. I did the pushing for this bit. Interaction is all well and good but knowing how keen over-stimulated children would be to shove a wicked witch headfirst into a painted fireplace I thought it best to cover this part of the roleplay myself so that McColleague and her pointy hat would survive to perform another day.

By 5 o'clock we were all interactived out.

"There aren't any more tours now, are there? Please tell me that was the last one. Please don't put me back in the shed."

"That was the last one, McColleague. All that remains now is to close up, cash up, put more lippy on, open the wine and partay."

I am a great believer in balancing hard work with an equally demanding level of play. Some people might say that having been on their feet all afternoon, talking non stop, having to do it all again tomorrow, they might prefer to have a quiet evening in on the sofa, resting. Those people are sensible and have probably never known the pain of having to open a visitor attraction the morning after with a head full of ball bearings. However, these people do not get to go to my after-event parties, so who's the real winner here? Answers in the comments, as per.

Big Red

Moat Dipping

"How's it going?" I asked McColleague, as she approached.

"All right, " she replied. "I've had to come back once already. One of the kids was taken poorly in the woods."

We didn't have time to exchange much more information than that. It was the changeover section of our children's event, our Bug Hunt and Pond Dipping activity. This outdoor event is very popular and always fully booked. As the numbers are so large we split it into two sections, with one group heading off into the woods - on this instance with McColleague and Lovely Warden - to hunt for insects and wildlife, while the other group stayed with me and New Warden for a go at fishing in the moat for water creatures. After an hour the groups swap over, so everyone gets to have a go at both activities.

"Right," I announced to the assembled crowd of adults with children in wellies, clutching brightly coloured fishing nets. "Those of you who have done the moat dipping will now be heading off with McColleague and Lovely Warden here. Those of you who have just been on a bug hunt will now be coming with me to see what we can find in the moat!"

I did the usual health and safety chat about taking great care by the water's edge, washing their hands after they'd finished, and then handed out the plastic trays into which the children would be landing their catch of the day. It's always water boatmen. We get the occasional stickleback, a water scorpion, perhaps a leech. But by far the most common sight, zipping about in their trays, is the water boatman.

"Now, what have you caught?" I will ask, squatting down to peer into their inch of muddy water with leaves. "Ah yes," I'll continue, "It's a water boatman."

It was as I was crouched over just such a tray full of little black aquatic beetles that I heard the splash. Then I heard the crying. A small boy came running up to me. He was laughing. "My brother's just fallen in!" He pointed at the source of the noise - an even smaller boy, crying, soaked through from head to toe. As I strode over his mother appeared beside him. She soothed him. "It's all right," she said, "you're just a bit wet. I've got dry clothes here." And to my pleased amazement she produced a towel and a full change of clothes. I was impressed. Once the child was dry and happily sucking a sweetie I expressed my admiration to this paragon of motherhood.

"Oh," she said, "I always come prepared. I know what he's like. Honestly, he was sick in the woods earlier."

I couldn't wait for McColleague to return with her group. "Hey," I pounced, as soon as she returned. "You know that kid who was sick in the woods?"

"Yes."

"He fell in the moat!"

Oh, how we laughed. He's not going to forget his big day out at our property in a hurry. I would love to read his "what I did in the school holidays" essay, complete with pictures.