When I was a kid, school field trips were a matter of piling into cars driven by “class mothers” and going… somewhere… There were usually about eighteen kids in my class, and yes, that includes the year that was 5th and 6th grade combined. (Well, we only had three 6th graders!) The thing about “class mothers” is that they were actually, well, you know… mothers. And they had known us… most of us… since preschool, and longer, if you happened to be related, or went to the same church.
We had really good field trips, back then. You could go anywhere that was vaguely educational, and reachable in an eight to ten hour day.
Military cemetery. Historical Society. Museum someplace down the interstate. Up the side of a really big hill out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t going with a stranger. You were going with someone your parents know well enough to know that if you don’t come back, they had a darn good reason.
It was good for discipline.
Case in point… That time we had to stop on the side of the interstate to tell the new kid he’d better buckle his seat belt right now. Because the class mother knew my parents, and she knew (redacted and redacted)’s parents and our parents would let her take their kids to (really fun, life-altering activity) some other time. She didn’t know new kid’s parents.
Seat belt buckled, followed by complete silence, and even strikingly good posture.