Somewhere high above the Atlantic, I caved in. It wasn’t so much the fact my daughter, Flo, then one, had been screaming since take-off three hours earlier.
Or even that, crammed into my economy-class seat with this bawling bundle, I had yet to pour myself the calming snifter I yearned for, open a miniature packet of pretzels or even go to the loo.
I was held hostage to the relentless, nerve-jangling wailing of my inconsolable infant. And so were the other 300 passengers.
It was the looks of hatred on their faces — glares saying: ‘Can’t you do something about that dreadful noise, you ineffectual mother?’ — that made me reach, in desperation, for the bottle in my handbag.
One spoonful of a sedating medicine was all it took to knock out Flo. She slept for hours, blissfully drugged
It wasn’t vodka. This was something that held the promise of a few hours of peace; the chance to eat dinner without having the contents thrown around. It was what was going to save me from a lynching at 37,000 ft.
One spoonful of a sedating medicine was all it took to knock out Flo. She slept for hours, blissfully drugged.
Who would have thought that for many people, this simple decision to sedate my daughter with an antihistamine was a dangerous abuse of my parental power? But many mothers, like me, believe it’s common sense.
The rights and wrongs of sedating babies on long-haul flights is a controversial war that is being waged on internet parenting forums, fuelled by the huge rise in families seeking long-haul destinations over Easter in the desperate search for sun.
According to industry analyst GfK, sales of family holidays abroad are booming, with bookings up 6 per cent from last year.
The price you pay for a sunshine holiday at this time of year is the interminable flight to get there.
And it’s how families are choosing to cope with hours cooped in a metal tube that is dividing opinion even more viciously than the ‘breast is best’ debate.
A friend who travels regularly between Britain and Australia to visit family recommended Phenergan Elixir to me.
The price you pay for a sunshine holiday at this time of year is the interminable flight to get there
This over-the-counter medicine contains promethazine, a sedating antihistamine. Usually administered on the advice of a GP to treat motion sickness or discomfort from certain allergies, it has become the secret weapon for many middle-class mothers embarking on long-haul flights.
And it’s one that has the PC brigade out in force, claiming that to drug children on a plane is tantamount to child abuse.
You have only to look on mothering websites to see the fury that has been unleashed. One woman rages: ‘Psychos who pop pills all day would drug their kids. Normal parents would never do that.’
Another furious post reads: ‘Drugging children on flights? If you’re not capable of occupying your offspring on a plane then perhaps you should stay at home.’
One outraged mother suggests taking a bagful of small toys to unwrap as distracting ‘surprises’ every 20 minutes for the duration of the journey.
Another advocates keeping your little darlings occupied by reading books and playing games with them.
Have these smug parents never travelled to the southern hemisphere? We’re not talking about a charter flight to Turkey — even I can be an attentive mother for five hours.
We’re talking about a gruelling flight to a time zone so far away you lose a whole day of your life to get there. Only it feels far more than a day.
By the time you have reached your destination, crumpled children in tow, the trauma of the journey will have aged you beyond recognition.
And before you all get started on why I choose to drag my offspring to far-flung corners of the Earth, let me explain that they have a grandfather in Fiji (a 28-hour flight) and a grandmother in Canada (an 11-hour flight).
Should we wait to be reunited as a family until the children are old enough to sit still, without noise or fidgeting, for hour after tortuous hour?
I think not. So ever since that first overseas flight with Flo, I have clutched my bottle of over-the-counter antihistamine tighter than my passport. Indeed, it is the first item to go in my flight bag, ahead of toothbrushes and teddy bears.
You can question my mothering skills if you want. You can call me selfish, irresponsible and foolhardy. But plenty of research has shown that what fellow travellers really despise more than crying children on planes are parents who do nothing about it. A poll by TripAdvisor found over a third of Britons would pay extra to travel in adults-only planes.
But why should they? We all know nothing raises the collective blood pressure among hundreds of strangers more than being stuck in a cramped space with a bawling baby or badly behaved toddler.
And while diversions and undivided parental attention can work up to a point, what is so wrong with a dose of something to make the whole process more bearable for everyone?
Should we wait to be reunited as a family until the children are old enough to sit still, without noise or fidgeting, for hour after tortuous hour?
This is where Phenergan Elixir comes in. Even the name holds the promise of something mystical happening.
For me, that’s having all my children conked out, so I can enjoy an in-flight movie and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
I remember one particular journey, undertaken without my husband, when I flew to Canada with Flo, who was then eight, Annie, six, and Monty, four.
Before the plane had taxied down the runway, I’d doled out the medicine in anticipation of a peaceful flight ahead.
Flo and Annie fell asleep almost instantly. However, Monty fought the sedative for hours.
Apparently, this can happen. Parents recount horror stories of Phenergan having the opposite effect and making children increasingly hyper on flights.
Eventually, in sheer desperation, I gave him another dose. He finally stopped kicking the seat in front of him and flicking peanuts across the aisle, and fell into a deep slumber.
Unfortunately, we were only a few hours from landing and when the plane’s doors went to manual I couldn’t wake up Monty. I tried cold water, standing him upright in the aisle, blowing on his face — all to no avail. We were the last passengers left on the plane.
Thank goodness the pilot offered to carry Monty over his shoulder as I struggled with bags and the other two children.
I was ashamed — and terrified in case the pilot cottoned on to the fact my child was drugged.
But did it put me off using the medication on my children again, including my youngest, Dolly, three?
No more than turbulence or the threat of terrorism have put me off flying. I’ve just got better with the timing of the teaspoon.
Dr Roger Henderson, one of Britain’s leading medics, says parents drugging children is not a new phenomenon. ‘We’ve come a long way, thank goodness, from the Victorian days of doling out opium, gin and laudanum for a good night’s sleep,’ he says. ‘Sedating children on aeroplanes is just the 21st-century equivalent.’
Provided guidelines and dosage are followed correctly, he sees no problem with parents resorting to Phenergan on flights.
‘There’s no harm in administering it occasionally,’ he says. ‘But I wouldn’t recommend regular use.’
That’s fine by me. With all our Airmiles used up we’ll be caravanning in Cornwall this summer. Though I’ll take a bottle just in case we get stuck in traffic.