OUR 19-year-old, who’s at Manchester University, appeared at the door, out of the blue, last week: “Hi Mum. Just thought I’d come home to study for a few days, I can’t get anything done in halls, it’s far too noisy and distracting.”

But I think Patrick has been missing the love of his life – our fridge – more than anything else. He rushed straight past me to reacquaint himself, then announced that he would be taking over our office for the next few days and could I please clear all my paperwork out.

As it is, his 16-year-old brother Roscoe is in the middle of his GCSEs, so he has taken over our living room, where the floor is covered in stacks of paper, you can’t see the dining table for piles of books and the mirror is festooned with Post-it notes.

I am not really sure how his exams are going, since every time I ask, the answer is the same: “Fine”. His tone makes it clear there’s no point in asking any follow-up questions.

He has warned me not to touch anything in his bedroom, where you can’t see the floor for scraps of notepaper and cards covered in scribbles with yellow florescent highlights.

And, after he’s gone to bed, his dad and I have been warned to ‘keep the noise down’. Roscoe insists the TV volume is set so low, so as not to disturb him, that I now need to use the subtitles.

We are in the middle of exam hell, a regular fixture in our house ever since our eldest, now 23, first took his GCSEs seven years ago. Since then, every miserable May and June has been dominated by at least one, sometimes two boys at the same time, taking major exams from GCSEs to AS to A levels.

It has meant that, since 2008, we haven’t been able to go away for Bank Holiday weekends, half term breaks or even the Easter holidays without at least one boy protesting that we can’t because he has work to do.

When this exam hell first started, my nerves were worse than those of the boys. Worried they weren’t doing enough work, I was constantly on their backs, having to force myself not to scream: “Don’t you realise just how important this is? Your whole future could depend on it.”

But, as the years have gone on, I have become more laid back than they are. Because I have seen how constant and all-consuming exam pressure can be, while, at the same time, their childhood and youth whizzes by.

From the moment they start SATs tests, at primary school, it’s as if they’re locked in an educational arms race, in pursuit of A* glory. It takes its toll. Hardly surprising, then, that Childline has seen a 200% increase in exam related stress calls in the UK, where we have the most examined youngsters in the world as well, apparently, as some of the least happy.

Shouldn’t having fun, the freedom to be experimental and creative and learning to put life in perspective be considered every bit as important as the written tests our children are forced to endure?

Watching his older brothers on the exam treadmill has clearly had an effect on 12-year-old Albert. He hasn’t been told the dates of his summer exams or what topics he has to cover, yet he’s already starting to panic unnecessarily about what revision he should be doing.

Since he’s only in first year, I keep telling him to go outside and play football and enjoy himself a bit more instead. And, rather than nagging my older boys to do more work, I find myself increasingly urging them to relax, chill out and not worry so much.

I know all these exams seem vitally important right now, and of course I want all my boys to try their hardest at whatever they set out to do. But I doubt if Roscoe’s older brothers can remember the grades they got for each of their GCSEs. The significance of those exam results has paled with the passing of time.

Now the oldest two are in the world of work, there are so many other qualities they possess which are just as important, if not more so, than any grades they ever clocked up. No-one gets a certificate for being a kind, polite, sociable, able and happy individual, but surely that’s far more valuable than boasting a string of A*s.

Roscoe’s apparently dismissive response to my question about how his exams have gone is probably much more meaningful than I realised. Should he not get the grades he hoped for, some doors may close. But others, with horizons every bit as exciting, will open.

Everything, I am sure, will be just ‘fine’.

PATRICK did bring home some washing for me to do. But unfortunately, a White Stuff jumper, which he got when he left for university in September, shrank in the wash. “That’s my favourite jumper, I wear it all the time,” he moaned. I couldn’t understand it, as I followed the 30degree wash instructions: “What temperature have you washed it in Patrick?” I asked him. He looked blank: “Me? I’ve never washed it.” Thankfully, it fits his 12-year-old brother now.

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