Up and down they go, criss-crossing the country, cars packed full of stuff. Duvets, pillows, vapes, cuddly toys, packs of cheap pasta and rice, Aldi-brand vodka, clothes horses and apprehension. There are around 1.7 million undergraduates and a third of them, the freshers, are most probably leaving home for the first time.
Some are already at university, including my youngest, who I dropped off at the University of York last week after playing ‘spot the student car’ on the A1. She’ll be studying to become an educational psychologist over the next three years, getting an education herself and a high degree of debt – plus expertise in Pot Noodles.
And yes, I blubbed in the car as I drove off while other mums, dads, and nervous children unpacked
The drop-off at campus was like a military operation: commendably efficient, marshalled by an array of lanyard-wearing commissars pointing this way and that, and bizarrely assisted by a giant kangaroo mascot called Langaroo. It’s an emotional and significant time for students and parents. It wasn’t my first experience of letting go – my eldest went to Manchester six years ago and never came back. Sadly, my wife divorced me three years ago, so organising child number two’s departure to Nottingham and the latest trip to York required a bit more diplomacy and tact, but we pulled it off.
I felt a mixture of pride and sadness as I walked away from the halls. And yes, I blubbed in the car as I drove off while other mums, dads, and nervous children unpacked. I was saying goodbye not just to my child but also a part of parenthood – she was my last to leave. The umbilical cord of finance, holidays, emotional and career support will still be there, but it will never be quite the same.
As I drove off, I felt that my parenting job was done. The dribbling baby I cradled in my arms in hospital; the little girl I watched pirouetting on stage at weekend ballet classes; the uniformed pupil starting big school; and the sulky teenager I taxied to parties had now left home, even though she mostly lived at her mother’s place.
It was an unsettling feeling. Like my two other departed children, I popped into her bedroom back home, sat on her bed, and reminded myself of her younger lives. I tutted as I picked up discarded jumpers and emptied an overflowing bin and drawers. It’s only been a few days and I am already getting WhatsApp messages asking whether certain jackets are still in a wardrobe, whether I could assemble a small flatpack and bring it to York, or if I had any ideas on fancy dress costumes.
Thankfully, my daughter is pretty good at communication (unlike her brothers… are you reading this?) and she’s sent me pictures of her new accommodation. Her room in the halls of residence was as bland as expected – rivalling the worst budget hotels. After a nifty makeover, it was home-sweet-home, with potted plants, scented candles, and a magnetic whiteboard holding a timetable full of good intentions.
But, as she’s about to find out, being a student isn’t cheap. According to government figures, the average student spends around £1,104 a month, with nearly half going on rent. Next comes groceries at £144, followed by £76 on bills, £65 on transport, and £51 on going out – which I thought was a little on the low side. Mind you, I’ve never been exactly honest on the weekly alcohol unit question with doctors, so why should they?
There will probably be a wobble once the freshers partying ceases and she spends more time in her room on her own. But, like parents across the country, I will be at the end of a phone monitoring Instagram, WhatsApp, and maybe taking the odd call. I know she’ll be fine but me? Perhaps I should dip into her psychology syllabus for some pointers.
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