Vicky Ewan: A capital idea on the road to independence

Our younger son, the only remaining fledgling in our nest, has lately been voicing a yearning to visit his siblings in London.

Aligning school holidays, annual leave for both my husband and myself, and the disposal of additional responsibilities (the gorgeous but complex Miss Pup being one of the most challenging) is a task that would flummox Britain’s brightest brains, and, as yet, there are no plans on the horizon to fulfil this request.

Aware of the myriad obstructions, our son has begun to raise the question of being permitted to travel solo. He is a sensible lad, most of the time, but he is very young. Or so it seems; but when I bring to mind his eldest sibling at the age he is now, with three littl’uns scampering about in her shadow, I am perplexed by the discrepancies in my views, acknowledging the greater faith I had in her not only to look after herself but watch out for her sisters and brother, too (although never fully alone).

It’s a matter of context, I know; with three children trailing her in fairly quick succession, she was naturally inclined to mature at a faster rate than her youngest sibling, the baby of the family. But now that he is at secondary school, and could - if we didn’t live seven minutes’ walk away - conceivably catch the bus or even the train to and from that institution, I can see that it might be time to loosen the reins a little and let him learn to navigate his way in the world.

Recently, I made an engagement with my younger daughter to take care of her brother whilst my husband and I both had work commitments. She readily agreed, but the sticking point occurred when we were obliged to consider where this care-taking would occur: at our home, or hers? She currently resides in a lovely flat in Exeter, and I knew both she and her brother would both prefer that he go to her, a decision that would necessitate travel - travel that I would be unable, realistically, to undertake.

Sensing the perfect opportunity to capitalise on the situation, my son smiled sweetly at me and suggested that, in preparation for prospective lone journeying to our nation's capital on some hitherto unknown date, he could test the waters (or, rather, the tracks) by making the far simpler and safer trip to our county town by train. I was initially reluctant, but as time went on and no other solution to the dilemma presented itself, I began seriously to consider it.

My husband and I talked the prospect over at some length, assessing the drawbacks and the benefits of such an undertaking, and came to the conclusion that, with sufficient preparation, we could give our son the go-ahead - to the young man's absolute delight. I identified the optimum train for the trip, and elicited promises from my daughter that she would be present at the destination station for his disembarkation; all was in place as my son and I took a brisk walk to the station on the morning in question, arriving in good time to purchase a paper ticket (for, of course, we could not rely on any digital alternative) and then making our way across the bridge to the far platform. The train pulled in a few minutes later and I handed my son aboard, then anxiously hurried along the platform to wait beside a window framing a pair of empty seats where he would, hopefully, sit alone for the duration and feel comfortable.

Alas, so nervous was he that he simply dived into the first spare seat he could find, at a table, opposite two men. I think they could sense his trepidation, and waved and smiled at me reassuringly. Pleasantries concluded, all that remained was for me to gaze moonily at my progeny through the glass as we awaited departure; unfortunately, I was utterly oblivious to the guard’s frantic attempts to direct me to stand behind the yellow line in order for the departure to be sanctioned. Eventually, whistling and yelling at me, he made himself clear, and I stepped back, mouthing tender farewell messages to my child.

Finally appeased, the guard mounted the train, and it began to pull away, rapidly picking up speed as mother and son waved desperately at one another. And then there was nothing to do but exit the station and wait to hear from my daughter that she had collected him safely and all was well - which she duly did, and it duly was.

Profound was my relief, and proud was my heart, when my son relayed the particulars of the journey, and the plans he had made should things have gone awry. He is one step further along the road to independence, and one inch more grown-up. There's no way I'm letting him go to London alone yet, though.