Reading about young Toby Field’s passion for trains (The Argus, September 2), reminded me of when I took my young grandchildren to Olympia a few years ago. We had to change at Clapham Junction on the way back and, after settling down, were amused to see a little lad about Toby’s age striding confidently backwards and forwards through the carriages, all by himself. Instinct told me this was not normal so I stopped him and asked him where he was going. He said he was looking for his mummy. Instantly alerted, I suggested it was better for him to stay so his mummy could find him and lifted him out of the way on to my lap (a normal thing to do then). The man opposite offered to walk the train to see if a frantic mother was looking for a child but came back and said nobody was. He then went to tell the guard. When the guard arrived I was able to tell him the chatty little boy’s name, that his mother was wearing a red coat and had brown hair and that he had just started school – all of which had come out easily with gentle questions. The guard nodded and disappeared and said he would deal with it. When we reached Haywards Heath the platform was full of police. The guard signalled from the door and the carriage was full of uniforms – my own grand-children were goggle-eyed. A policewoman scooped the child from my lap and left the train. The little boy waved happily to me over his shoulder, so trusting and confident that the grown-ups would sort it out. He was still waving as we pulled away.

The police had told the guard there was a frantic mother at Clapham Junction, hysterical at the loss of her little boy. Waiting to board a train with another toddler in a pushchair, our train had come in and the little lad had squeezed on while others got off, probably believing his mother would be following. My grandchildren are grown up now but we have never forgotten this incident.

June Broomer, Hoddern Avenue, Peacehaven