I persuaded my kids to ditch the tech – and we had our best ever holiday

The family went back to basics, with board games instead of mobiles and a wood burner instead of electricity

“I doubt there’ll be enough hot water for everyone to shower at once,” chirped Caroline Petherick as she showed us around. “But you might be OK if you space yourselves out.”
I sensed my offspring tense at the suggestion they might not be able to wash daily – though the reaction was less dramatic than when I’d revealed that they’d have no Wi-Fi, or even electricity, for the duration of our week’s holiday. The kids – Freddie, 15, Rosie, 18, and Harvey, 23 – had threatened to boycott the break when I’d owned up, so the raised eyebrows elicited by the lack of hot water were an improvement.
I’d toyed with the idea of a digital detox break after an Ofcom study into online habits revealed that just over half of older children and young adults aged 16-24 felt they spent too much time on social media. I’d also seen a Survation survey in which four in five parents said their youngsters’ screen time had increased since Covid. I for one was fed up with constantly berating my lot for being glued to their phones, so when I came across Caroline’s Cornish bolthole, the temptation was irresistible.
It was about as off-grid as it gets. An 1850s stone coach house lying in a 70-acre nature reserve on a clifftop above Looe Bay, it was derelict when Caroline bought it in 1989. She restored it, stopping short of installing electricity because of the cost.
However, we weren’t without basics. There was a fridge freezer, lighting and a portable mobile-phone charging dock, all powered by a battery recharged by solar panels. A gas hob ran off LPG, and a wood-burning stove provided heat, warmed up the water (aided by solar tubes outside) and acted as an oven.
And, oh, the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Looe Island in the English Channel beyond and provided a regal view over two chubby headlands and the fishing village of Looe in the distance. I was in heaven – but how would the kids cope with feeling ostracised from society?
That afternoon, we all merrily plodded along a muddy track to discover our own private beach, then took turns in our wood-fired hot tub, buzzards freewheeling above. Then, without prompting, Harvey and Freddie excitedly laid the wood burner, nurturing it into prodigious flames.
That evening Rosie sank her head into a novel – her first in ages – while my husband Tim and I tried and failed to work out how to heat up the oven part of the wood burner. Harvey slunk outside to try and spot badgers while Fred plotted a midnight swim. Afterwards, we all nestled fireside for Trivial Pursuit and crosswords.
“This is the best place ever,” said Fred enthusiastically; Rosie and Harvey nodded in fervent agreement. I tried not to look astonished as Tim and I poured ourselves glasses of the Cornish Orchards cider Caroline had kindly left us, though I did allow myself a smug smile when my back was turned. Mobile phones and laptops hadn’t once been used – or even mentioned.
By the next morning we’d realised we did indeed have a slither of mobile phone reception in one room, but to my delight the kids didn’t seem remotely interested. I formed the impression they felt it liberating to take a break from the social media bandwagon. They’d told friends they’d be out of contact, and were enjoying a rare freedom to ignore what everyone else was doing.
I, however, surprised myself by how much I thought about emails and news websites, while Tim agonised over missing the football scores. Perhaps we were as bad as the brood – or worse.
Over the next couple of days we enjoyed hikes over the craggy cliffs of the South West Coast Path to Looe, the sublime views (and games of I Spy and Fizz Buzz) distracting us from the tough inclines. Very occasionally phones were checked – Tim and I would flick through emails, the kids would watch a few TikTok videos or read messages – but within minutes they’d be safely stowed again.
Evenings unfurled like scenes from old-fashioned storybooks. Freddie chopping up kindling, Harvey starting the fire. There were dips in the hot tub, crosswords and cards, Cluedo and Logo Billionaire. Rosie and I coloured in arty posters, and the kids taught Tim and me polka. And, yes, there was more cider. Free of digital distractions, we talked and laughed more, fell out less.
A particularly poignant moment came when Freddie, our tough, rugby-playing son, asked me to dance. Turning up Mamma Mia! we swirled awkwardly, laughing so hard we could barely stand. Thankfully our “Dancing Queen” Rosie stepped in and tried to teach us. Rosie failed. Harvey cheered. Tim sipped.
Day trips reconnected us with civilisation. In Padstow, we sampled Stein’s Fish and Chips – chef Rick’s chippie – and on Bodmin Moor we stomped through stone circles. At the old Bodmin Jail we learnt how convicts were hanged just for stealing sheep, then, next door at the Bodmin Jail Hotel, we admired the clever conversion that incorporated original prison features like tiered walkways.
Back in our little bolthole, we lapped up our simpler pace of life. Finding the shower temperature predictably unpredictable, we happily resigned ourselves to not washing too frequently. Unconvinced by the wood-fired oven, I avoided cooking and, without a washing machine, blithely watched the laundry stack up. It left me more time to play games, chat and read, and made it one of the most relaxing holidays I’ve ever had. Best of all, not one of us missed the tech.
Back home, the phones, tablets and laptops, of course, inevitably returned. But one thing has changed – from now on, we’re determined to take an off-grid family holiday every year. We’ve discovered a totally new way to travel – and with it, how to properly relax, recharge and remember what it’s really all about.
Fiona Whitty was a guest of Visit Cornwall (visitcornwall.com) and One Off Places (oneoffplaces.co.uk), which offers a wide selection of quirky, off-grid properties across the UK and Europe
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