This summer at St Alban’s in Windy Nook, we saw a group of children transform – from nervous whispers to confident voices, from strangers to collaborators. Volunteer co-facilitator Elaine Grant, Curate at St Alban’s, reflects on a week that built not just performances, but connections, resilience and joy.
It was day 5 – the final day – and standing at the door, patiently waiting for their name labels, was a lad in a football strip with his 2 young cousins. He’d come along yesterday to drop them off, but hadn’t wanted to join in himself – too cool, perhaps, or too nervous. Whatever the reason, he’d waved off our invitation and headed off into the car park. But today he was back, and this time he wanted to join us.
We’d been going for 4 days already, working hard with a 20-strong group of 6 to 11 year olds. The group changed in composition from day to day – some of the participants loved it but had to leave unexpectedly, some signed up but didn’t show, and others came and then brought their friends! And the children who came were a disparate and diverse group: besides the expected variations in age, some spoke barely any English, while others couldn’t stop chatting; some were non-stop fidgeters while others often froze in fear.
They were a motley collection, drawn together for one week of adventure – and the challenge was evident right from the start. The nerves came out in tears and posturing, talking over one another or refusing to talk at all. The initial games designed to help us learn one another’s names seemed to take forever, and each awkward pause stretched out for an age. Meeting new people can be tricky at any age, but as I watched these children struggle to see each other, to listen to one another, or even just to whisper their own name, I felt a flicker of unease. How could we possibly hold this chaotic group together, let alone build it into something whole?
But 4 days in, it was a very different story. This mixed bag of participants had become a group with its own identity and rhythms. Games that had initially seemed impossibly challenging had become firm favourites, and the group had subtly adjusted to accommodate the diversity within it. They could wait now for the most nervous members. They could listen better to the quiet speakers. They could hold space for the fidgety and fretful, the chatterers, those who stepped in and out of the activities. They weren’t all best friends, and they still forgot a name here and there, but the pattern was established. They knew what they were here for, and who they were together in this space.
The week was full of discovery – learning how to be with one another, and how to perform together as a group. They’d mastered, more or less, the rules of working with full-face masks – the kind that can turn a familiar face into a total stranger in an instant. They’d had a gloriously messy afternoon of decorating their own masks, and from their unbridled imaginations came 20 fiercely individual creations, each a reflection of its maker.
On the penultimate day began the group’s final work of creation. Working in 4 smaller groups, the children were invited to dream up a short, wordless skit, which the next day they would perform to one another and their families in a ‘sharing’ to mark the end of the week’s adventure. The scenes all followed the same prompt, but were as varied as the participants themselves – and they were fabulous.
Then came the final day, the culmination of a week’s worth of creative work. The children in the room were no longer a disparate group of strangers, but a community with its own identity, and the sense of excitement was palpable. Today was the day their parents, siblings and carers would come, and they would share what they had made. This had been a special week, and today was a special day.
And here stood this new boy, following his cousins’ recommendation and coming to join in the fun. As he entered the room I felt a flicker of concern: would the group dynamics hold? What about the scenes, already created and practised? But I needn’t have worried – the work done in the preceding days was more than equal to the challenge.
Over those 5 days together we’d not just been learning (although we’d learned a lot – names, games and performance tips!) We’d been growing together. Each child had grown individually: in creativity, confidence, patience and much more. The group had grown together: in attention to one another, in connection, in relationship. And even bigger than that, a culture had developed: a culture of attentiveness and grace, and of freedom to try, to fail, and to try again. That culture, beautifully fostered by Darren and Wambui, and deepened by our successive days together, made all the difference on that final day.
When the moment of sharing came – with family and friends sat in a semicircle and the children in their groups at the front – every child was equal, and equally wonderful. It was impossible to tell who was new and who’d been there from the start, or what language they spoke, or how confident they felt. The creativity had done its work, and as the audience laughed and gasped and cheered, and each child stood up a little taller, I was struck again by the inestimable value of workshops like this.
The holiday club was funded by the government’s holiday activities and food programme (HAF) and Communities Together Durham. It was designed to provide a week of structure and meals to children who might otherwise struggle – and it did so. But that’s not nearly the full story. Drawing on the promise and success of last year’s holiday club, this week was another step in building a culture of acceptance, imagination and growth – and in providing a safe, joy-filled space that fed not just the body but also the soul.