Boys’ Camp took place, as usual, in a field overlooking Porthcawl harbour, St. David’s. It had been fully booked since April, with 52 boys eager to attend. Including the Officers and cooks, Ruth Alcolado and her team had to cater for around 80 plates, and all agreed that they did an excellent job.
Activities ranged from football, crocker (non-stop cricket), swimming, inter-tent ‘Olympics’ (held in the giant marquee during the first wet weekend) and our annual ‘Superstars’ competition, including a variety of games skills. This year’s Superstar was Ethan Hughes, who gave a short victory speech in which he directed the boys to the greater glory that is to be found with God.
Camp Chaplain was James Allan, who spoke clearly on the life of Joseph, pointing to comparisons with the life of Jesus. Age-group Bible studies took place each evening, and Alun Ebenezer gave an epilogue at supper time.
There was a mix of Orientals and those with no church background among the boys. Several were first time campers becoming Christians and we pray that they will find a fellowship in which to grow in their faith.
The experienced Officers again let Rhys Roberts drill us in the sand (augmented ten years ago). And again the Camp Band was a concern: it was good to have Jack Parker (Canada) at Camp and he did a great job. Coming into Camp 2025, which will be a special 90th anniversary Camp, all this is another enjoyable, successful Boys’ Camp, managed and supported at the local level, with an infinite variety of input. Camp was a success and an especially precious time to God!
Billy Love Camp Ode 2025 – W. Love
Another year has come and gone —
The whole world changes, Camp goes on;
We set up Camp at Porthclais Bay,
And pitch our tents, the week to stay.
The biggest one in memory –
Over fifty boys, you see;
Each one rammed full of energy,
The way that once I used to be!
On Saturday, all to the sea,
At Whitesands, it’s the place for me!
The waves were but freezing cold,
You had to be both mad and bold
To enter in, disdaining fear
Of getting hypothermia.
So, most decided they would each
Be safer playing on the beach.
We’re multi-national this year,
From Canada to Albania,
And Victor, from Nigeria.
We all enjoy when he performs
His native dance, beyond the norms;
He jumps about, and swings his limbs
As if he’s dancing in the gym;
Extending out from every angle,
Our very own Mister Bojangles!
Our week began with heavy showers –
Not good for us, but helps the flowers.
Nor wet enough for Matthis and Gwyn,
Who, down the harbour, just jumped in!
Not very wise, don’t think they oughta –
With sewage floating in the water!
Meanwhile, encouraged to compete
By brothers Mike and Andrew Street,
Boys tested skills at different games –
To win the prize was each tent’s aim.
What did they win? I hear you ask –
A sheen of glory in which to bask?
No gold nor silver, no such luck,
But one pound each, to spend on tuck!
That’s all the Camp Bank could afford –
But winning is its own reward.
Football will always cause a stir,
And nothing’s changed at all this year.
A knife-edge match, goal disallowed,
Enough to aggravate the crowd.
The referee – what was his name? –
Needed to take charge of the game.
But then, at last, a goal was scored
By little Tommy – how they roared!
And ran to lift their hero up,
As if he’d won the FA Cup!
And Sam, next morning he was cleared –
Not hung, drawn, quartered, as he’d feared.
So, free to referee once more –
Just make sure he can count the score!
Catches win matches, the saying goes,
Stopping a batsman when he flows;
The safest hands, I put to you,
Belong to Dyfan George, that’s who;
He seems to have two Velcro palms
Stuck on the end of his tiny arms.
One hit flew high into the air
But little Dyfan, he was there,
And clasped the ball safe from on high
With only one hand – my oh my!
James Seymour, he was less impressed,
When fielding, he had failed the rest;
A lad who lives life on the edge,
He fell backwards into the hedge!
The sound of music fills the air this week;
Strumming guitars, melodica, and xylophone, unique!
And aspiring young musicians
Creating their own compositions.
It almost feels like Glastonbury here,
It’s all the rage,
With Jimmy Hughes the headline act
Live on the Pyramid stage!
Talk of the ‘Great Inflatable’
Reminds me of the pool,
Where young boys love to jump and splash,
And older ones look ‘cool’.
Unless, of course, their name is Cai,
Whose bright idea was not to try
To swim, but push the lifeguard in!
What’s that? A foolish thing to do?
There’s more! Something I must tell you –
The one who said, ‘let’s push him in
Turned out to be a lad named Gwyn!
The moral of this woeful tale
Is clear to me, you must not fail
To learn this lesson – it’s immense – Just use a bit of
common sense!
You may be fast, you may be slow,
You may be Superstar, for all I know.
But while you’re young be sure to trust
In Jesus Christ, for that’s a must;
We can be sure He’ll guide our ways
And lead us through the troubled days.
Wisdom, ‘tis said, comes from the Lord,
A gift which we can ill afford
To lose… and so, I urge, before we part,
Trust in the Lord with all your heart.
The night draws on, the darkness falls,
The mystery of dreamland calls;
One more Camp has come and gone,
The tents are packed but life goes on.
We leave and go our separate ways
But ne’er forget these youthful days,
When friends are made and memories stored –
No matter if we go abroad –
It is enough, it will suffice,
That we were always part of Boys’ Camp,
2025, Porthclais.
