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This week's columnist Helen Penn considers what mutual trust between children and adults can do for social behaviour For the past four years, I have spent my summer holidays in south-west France with my grandchildren, at a small resort on the Mediterranean. It is not a fashionable or well-known place, and the beach is used mainly by French families.
This week's columnist Helen Penn considers what mutual trust between children and adults can do for social behaviour

For the past four years, I have spent my summer holidays in south-west France with my grandchildren, at a small resort on the Mediterranean. It is not a fashionable or well-known place, and the beach is used mainly by French families.

There are several things that never cease to amaze me. First, even when the beach is very crowded, there is never any litter. The French families who use this beach do not picnic or snack or eat between meals. Instead, the beach empties for lunch. There are no crisp packets, sweet papers, fizzy drink cans or ice-cream wrappers.

Second, you very rarely hear children whining or being shouted at. Everyone seems so relaxed and polite. Perhaps it is the Mediterranean sunshine. The beach has lifeguards, and the sea is shallow, but even so, no-one seems anxious about the children, who are allowed to potter and play without vigilant supervision. Nor are children bribed with snacks to keep them quiet.

This absence of anxiety is epitomised in the Beach Club. It runs six afternoons a week from 3.30pm (after siesta time) to 7.30pm for children aged four to 12. Up to 60 children can attend. The space consists of a very small hut (with a Portaloo), and an area of sand loosely roped off from the rest of the beach. There is a swimming pool-size space in the sea marked off with buoys. The main equipment consists of three large trampolines, and a dizzying swing on a rope pulley.

The Beach Club, which is licensed by the local authority, is run by three people, all highly qualified - two have degrees in sports science, and the third trained as a psychologist. They run a carefully planned programme of games on the beach and in the water. Despite his rudimentary French, my grandson loves the Beach Club. But by British standards it breaks every health and safety rule in the book.

Why is it that on this French beach, adults and children appear to trust each other to behave sensibly? Adults believe children, even very young ones, can cope, and children believe adults are reliable. As far as I know, there has never been any incident of any kind in the Club or on the beach.

What lessons can we draw from this peaceful scene?

Helen Penn is professor of early childhood studies at the University of East London