Hippies in tie-dye dresses and a disco once a week

2023-08-22 10:34:34

7.30 a.m., let’s go! The bus came punctually at half past seven and that was the start of the best part of my vacation: three weeks of summer camp in a forest near my hometown.

In the morning by bus, back in the evening and in between there were wonderful hours with 300 other children and a few dozen hippies from the 70s in bell-bottom trousers and tie-dye suits, who the church had hired as supervisors for this kind of educationally valuable local suburban recreation and who knew exactly that nothing is worse than a child who is bored. Accordingly, the days were clocked through with a tight entertainment program for adolescents between six and twelve years of age, in line with the educational ideals of that decade, a lot of laissez-faire, few prohibitions.

I spent the summer days tie-dying linen, doing handicrafts, making macrame owls, building dams, and making crooked vases and ashtrays. We lay on the lawn, swung or hung on climbing frames, visited outdoor pools and zoos. There was always something going on, even the terribly overcooked food and the cold fruit tea from huge tin pots didn’t dampen my mood in the slightest.

A wasp had stung my lip at the pool

In the evening we went back home by bus, the battered driver distributed the overexcited and sunburnt crowd of children to the surrounding villages and also threw me and a few others out at the right bus stop, where my mother picked me up.

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Once she didn’t recognize me, a wasp had stung my lip at the pool, making my mouth swell grotesquely. Another time she wanted to ignore me when I cheered her from afar that I had wet my pants. But what should I do? I had a 60-hour fun week, so there was no time for more complicated trips to the bathroom.

Once a week there was a “disco” and I was banging my head along to the hippie records on the dance floor in the dining room and yodeling along with every song. My favorite song was “Baby Love” by Mother’s Finest. The hippies told me the band name, I didn’t know who Mother’s Finest were, nor did I understand the English lyrics, which deal with sexual addiction.

I asked my dad to buy me the single, but he brought me “Love Me Baby,” a disco pounder that I sang along to just as enthusiastically. I still have the single and when I listen to it sometimes it’s summer, sunny and forever.