Has Health and Safety Gone Too Far? Reflections on the Closure of Kinver Scout Camp

 

(Image: Scouts Hereford & Worcester)

There are some places that become woven into the fabric of a community, not because they are flashy or modern or profitable but because they quietly shape generations. Kinver Scout Camp is one of those places. For more than a century, families from across Worcestershire and beyond have pitched tents, lit campfires, built friendships and learned the sort of outdoor skills that only come from muddy boots and woodland air.

And now it is closing.

When the announcement dropped from Scouts Hereford and Worcester it felt like a punch to the gut. January 2026, that is when the shutters come down, the gear is stripped out, and Kinver will cease to be a Scout run site. They are not selling it, they insist. They are hoping someone else, a charity, a business or a community trust, might step in. But still, the symbolism of the closure cuts deep.

But how did we get here? How does a facility with 23 acres of woodland, a century of heritage and even a visit from Baden Powell himself become unsustainable?

The reasons, we are told, are complex. Governance changes, reduced demand, volunteer strain and, reading between the lines, the creeping weight of compliance. Health and safety. Regulation. The ever growing list of boxes to tick, risks to mitigate, policies to update and inspections to fund. All in an environment where volunteer time is already stretched beyond breaking.

Honestly, this is where I start to wonder, have we simply pushed things too far?

Scouts is not a corporation. It is not a faceless institution with a legal department and a compliance team. It is a movement powered by volunteers, people who give up evenings, weekends, holidays, sleep, comfort and in many cases their own money so that young people can have the sort of experiences that stay with them for life.

But running a campsite these days? It is not as simple as checking the loose branches, clearing the paths and keeping an eye on the fire pit. It is risk assessments, structural surveys, safeguarding requirements, insurance inflation, site management responsibilities and the sort of operational demands that feel more suited to a professional outdoor centre than a volunteer led organisation.

And that is the bit that truly stands out. Not because health and safety is unimportant, far from it. We want kids to be safe. We want volunteers to be supported. We want facilities to be well run and sustainable.

But there is a tipping point, is there not? A point at which protecting people becomes so administratively heavy, so financially prohibitive that the experience itself begins to disappear.

Kinver is not just a campsite. It is a living classroom. It is the spark for confidence, resilience and curiosity. It is where young people learn to navigate by the stars, make a fire, try something that scares them a little and walk away feeling bigger, braver, stronger. You cannot replicate that with an online form or a safety video.

So when places like this close I cannot help but feel we are losing something important, not just the facility but a piece of cultural memory. A shared space that has shaped who we are.

And maybe this is the wider question we should be asking, how do we protect children and volunteers without burying the very organisations that exist to help them under mountains of compliance and paperwork?

Because at some point, if we are not careful, we will regulate our way out of community life altogether.

For now, all we can do is hope that the Scouts find a third party willing and able to take Kinver on. Someone who sees its value not in revenue potential but in the laughter, the campfire stories and the lifelong friendships that emerge from those 23 acres of woodland.

Kinver has been part of our shared landscape for 104 years. The idea that it could fade away because the burden of managing risk has grown too heavy? That feels like a sign of the times and not a good one.

Maybe it is time we rebalanced things. Maybe it is time we trusted communities a little more, supported volunteers a little better and remembered that adventure, real adventure, comes with a bit of mud, a bit of risk and a whole lot of heart.