Dick Porter entrusts his eight-year-old son to the care of a summer camp in Surrey.

You have to steel your heart to leave an eight-year-old for his first-ever holiday without Mum and Dad.

Especially when, at the very moment of your brave goodbyes, there's thunder and lightning crashing round your heads.

But that's what we did when we offloaded our youngest son, Dominic, for a week at one of PGL Travel's summer camps for children.

We needn't have worried. On his return after seven days of abseiling, shooting, climbing, go-karting and mountainbiking, Dominic proudly announced that PGL stands for one thing only - Parents Get Lost.

The initials actually stand for Peter Gordon Lawrence, the mastermind behind the organisation, founded 40 years ago, which now has 23 camps in Britain, France and Austria.

And although the accent is on children having fun in a safe, caring environment, the benefits are actually a whole lot wider.

The week gives children a chance to mix with other youngsters, to make new friends and to find confidence in themselves.

And the packed programme of events doesn't allow any time for homesickness.

There was one complaint from our son, who was joined by his pal Matthew Hall, also eight, from Calverley C of E School for the week's jaunt at PGL's summer camp at Marchant's Hill, near Hindhead in Surrey.

"The sausages were rubbery," Dominic told us. "But the mashed potato was yummy."

The children - there were 189 at Marchant's Hill when we dropped Dominic off during that thunderstorm last month - are given three square meals a day, and sleep in two-tier bunks in single-sex dormitories at the camp, converted from a former field-study centre.

From the moment we arrived at the wooded countryside of Marchant's Hill, we knew that the children were in safe hands.

For those 189 youngsters, there were more than 60 attendants, leaders and helpers. And when the activities get tough, like abseiling or climbing, each child has his own personal tutor.

Every family is met at the car park by a cheery young teenager in PGL uniform and cap. They help to get the car unloaded, with all the usual holdalls and the ubiquitous black bin-liners.

Then it's off to registration, where the children sign in and bank their pocket money (£1 a day is plenty as the holiday is all-found and there is only a tuck shop and gift shop to burn holes in the children's pockets).

At registration, the youngsters meet their team leader - in Dominic's case a sparky young Candian called Phillipa. She will be leader, pal, nurse and mother during the week ahead.

We said our goodbyes to Dominic and Matthew late on Saturday afternoon and were waved off the centre by the ever-present uniformed helpers.

During the week Dominic sent us a postcard which read:

"It is really OK. We are going on an assalt course. (sic) You have to put mud on your face."

So we knew he was OK.

On his return, our son told us he'd made friends with French, Russian and Japanese children.

He nattered on about Adam, a new friend he'd made. And he told us about the American boy who was staying there for the whole six-week holiday.

Not a bad recommendation.

So don't worry about casting your children loose for the week. The kids are truly happy for parents to get lost.

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