In my first few teenage years I attended Christian holiday camps rather like the ‘Bash’ camps where John Smyth and Justin Welby prayed in the same dormitory. They were run by old boys from the school. It was a day-school, but obviously these camps had a boarding school feel.
I loved it. It was like being at Hogwarts. I adored the clubby vibe, the belonging, the games, the lingo, the gossip, the praying together in the dorm, the sing-songs with cocoa. I went back for more every summer and Easter holidays for the next few years. It was a huge group of friends, still sweaty from a football game, congregating to worship. The theology was gently evangelical, in the public school tradition of ‘muscular Christianity’ – the cultural glue was ‘games’, meaning sport played in a particular spirit of fun and fellowship.
Every evening there was a service in the chapel, at which an ‘officer’ gave a talk.
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