Generational Journeys: A Father’s Reflection
My father often reminisces about a remarkable adventure he undertook as a 10-year-old boy. One weekend, he set out from his suburban home on the outskirts of southwest London, embarking on a solo expedition that took him into the heart of the capital and then out to the picturesque Kent and Sussex countryside. His mission? To ride the trains on a specific line that still operated exclusively with steam engines, a nostalgic remnant of a bygone era. After a day filled with excitement and exploration, he returned home in the late afternoon, having navigated the entire journey on his own. My grandparents, it seems, were perfectly at ease with this adventure. After all, the early 1960s was a time of innocence, and the trains were known for their punctuality. Besides, who would want to abduct a small boy who was so passionately enthusiastic about the wonders of steam locomotion?
Now, as a parent myself, I find this story both charming and a source of anxiety. This week, my daughter—who, at five years older than my father was then—will embark on her first solo train journey. Despite my meticulous preparations and my daughter’s evident sense of responsibility, I can’t shake off the feeling of apprehension.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t worry. Her journey isn’t long, just a brief hop across a single county border. Barring any unforeseen circumstances—like leaves on the tracks, snowstorms, or a member of the train crew being stuck in Peterborough—the trip will only take about 50 minutes. Moreover, she’ll be escorted to the train by the parents of a friend she’s visiting, and her grandmother will be waiting to greet her at her destination. There are no complicated transfers, no maze of stations to navigate, and no tickets to purchase on the day of travel.
My anxiety stems, in part, from the natural concerns every parent feels when their child steps into the world alone for the first time. I recall feeling a similar pang of fear when she first managed to climb to the top of the climbing frame at our local park when she was just three. I can only imagine the worry I’ll feel when she takes her first driving lesson in the future.
Yet, my fears are also colored by my own past experiences with the bittersweet reality of train travel—especially the disappointment of missing a train or, even worse, my stop. Just last week, I found myself in a rather embarrassing situation, missing my station on the last train home. I only realized my mistake when I arrived at the next stop, only to discover that there were no taxis available and my phone battery had died. A four-mile trek along desolate country lanes at 1 AM is not a scenario I wish for my daughter—though, to be fair, she’s traveling in the afternoon and is unlikely to have indulged in a few glasses of wine.
In search of reassurance, I turned to my phone for advice. Unsurprisingly, the internet is awash with tips for young travelers venturing out alone, but many of them are alarmist in nature. Keep your phone secure; carry a dummy wallet; always know how to make a swift exit (though that tip seems less relevant for a two-carriage train service). Every article I read paints a picture of a world filled with thieves, scammers, and all manner of nefarious characters lurking around every corner. How on earth will my daughter manage to navigate East Anglia?
However, I remind myself that not everything online is trustworthy. Following a controversial incident involving Kirstie Allsopp and social services, where she allowed her 15-year-old son to travel around Europe, several safeguarding experts pointed out that the internet poses more dangers to teens than an adventurous interrail trip. In fact, interrailing across the fens for an hour is likely far safer than gallivanting across Europe for a week or two.
As I reflect on my own youthful escapades, I can almost recall the thrill of my first solo train journeys: the joy of meticulously planning each leg of the trip; the exhilaration of watching unknown towns and sprawling countryside blur by outside the window; the way I would lose myself in the music that echoed my tumultuous teenage emotions. It was all so glorious, and I can only hope my daughter experiences something equally magical.
Provided, of course, that she doesn’t miss her stop…
