Jonny McCambridge: Charlie Chaplin saves the bank holiday

A dry bank holiday should not be wasted.

I arrive with my wife and son at the folk museum in Cultra, where we meet my sister-in-law and my two young nephews. The three boys greet each other excitedly, scarcely able to contain their youthful desire to engage in mischief and adventure.

The folk museum is always a good option for young children because of its wide-open spaces which tire out little legs.

But perhaps because I see the world through a slightly different focus, I am seeking something more.

I’d love the boys to learn something about the way the world used to be. This giant playground has the ability to enhance their understanding of a way of life which was both simpler and harder. Perhaps I am hoping for too much.

My son is keen to visit the sweet shop, but disappointed to learn that they do not sell Skittles or Tayto Prawn Cocktail crisps.

The large, clear jars of brightly coloured boiled sweets are a mystery to him. I try to rouse interest by explaining the process of the shopkeeper measuring out the confectionary using scales and weights, but he seems unimpressed.

We enter some of the old stone houses, but it becomes clear that the boys see them in a different way than I do.

They rush from one to the next, scarcely stopping to examine what is around them. When they see the old-fashioned spartan beds they proclaim distaste.

When they do pause to ask questions, they are generally themed around pee and poo and what people did before toilets were invented.

I decide that I will have to try and make the process more interactive, to bring it to life for them. Sadly, my detailed lectures on how to operate a wooden butter churn or the correct method for using a scythe to cut long grass are ignored by children and adults alike and remain unfinished.

We continue walking between the rows of stone cottages.

My son is deep in conversation with his cousin. I slow down slightly so I can listen in. They are talking about Pokemon.

None of this should be taken in any way as an indication that we are not having a good time. Indeed, the boys are loving the experience.

They run, jump and dance around the long country walk.

They are fascinated by the piglets, the fowl and the rich variety of apples which hang heavy from the branches of the trees in the orchard.

They hold tight to the large maps as we navigate our way around the park, keen to ensure that all aspects of the facility are fully explored.

They are all as happy as I have seen them in a long time.

It is just that I am looking for something elusive.

A moment which will connect them with the culture that is all around them.

As I said before, I think that I am asking for too much. If my talk about how to churn butter did not do it for them, then I am struggling to see what will.

There are realities which have to be faced; it is difficult to get a generation which has been raised on the wonders of Minecraft and Roblox interested in a demonstration of basket weaving. Maybe that’s just the way it is.

Our tour continues. Adult feet begin to ache, and the energy begins to seep out of juvenile limbs.

We all need some respite and head in the direction of the tea room.

Next door we discover the old cinema. Charmingly, it is called the ‘Picture House’.

This brings titters of delight from my family because, to this day, I still refer to cinemas as picture houses.

We enter the little building for what I assume will be the usual 30 second visit before the children rush out again, seeking further adventure. But something quite unexpected happens.

The three boys sit together on a long bench and begin to watch flickering black and white pictures of Charlie Chaplin on the far wall.

They quickly grasp the concept that this is silent cinema and that the dialogue is presented as words on the screen.

Soon they are laughing as an inebriated Chaplin struggles to climb a staircase, rescues a damsel by kicking a villain on the behind and tries to repair an alarm clock with a rubber hammer.

We take photographs. Usually this is a tricky process because it is difficult to get the boys all to stay still in the same place for long enough. On this occasion it is easy because they are spellbound by the grainy images of the old films.

I am staggered by the development.

It is clear the boys are content to watch Chaplin for a long time and it is the adults who have to eventually bring this experience to an end because we are desperate for a cup of coffee.

Soon, it is time to leave the park. As a last stop, we visit a little carpenter’s workshop. A tradesman begins to talk to the boys about wood. I smile knowingly, remembering my failed lecture with an imaginary scythe.

I don’t have the heart to tell him he is wasting his time.

He takes a huge wooden plane and quickly shaves a long ribbon of wood from a large plank on his work surface. The boys are amazed.

They have never seen wood fashioned this way before and he has to present them all with their own individual shaving before they will leave. He tells us that he has a workshop full of modern power-tools at his home, but there is nothing that can replicate the beautiful, clean effect of this ancient, heavy plane.

We depart, each of the three boys lovingly clutching and comparing their wood shavings.

As we get to the car park, my boy asks me to bend over, before giving me a Chaplinesque kick on the backside.

As ever with my stories I am struggling at the end to come to a conclusion, to pull it all together in my mind, to decide what it all means.

Perhaps the wisest and most profound conclusion is the one the three boys agree on before we go our separate ways — it has been a brilliant day.

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