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    When Control Room next asked Echo Seven for its location, I said, ‘Echo Seven. Eltering towards Cattleby.’
    ‘Received Echo Seven,’ responded the voice. ‘Echo Nine?’
    And so it continued. I daren’t halt the vehicle for any lengthof time in the fog to search on foot in case the battery could not cope with the demands upon it from the combined effects of the heater, radio and the lights; I did not feel inclined to switch off the lights in this ghastly silent world. So I continued to drive around; in any case, I wanted to find my way out! For each half-hour, therefore, I provided a fictitious location when asked, and when the time came for my refreshment break at 2am, I took a gamble.
    We were supposed to take our refreshment breaks at police stations and not in our vehicles; I knew Ashfordly was unmanned at night and hoped no one would attempt to contact me there by telephone. So, when I would normally have broken my tour of duty for refreshments, I radioed to Control ‘Echo Seven, refreshments Ashfordly. Over.’
    ‘Received, Echo Seven.’
    I halted in the gloom and had my break at the wheel, in contravention of Sergeant Blaketon’s rule about not eating or drinking in the mini-van. I kept the engine running and the equipment and lights operating, for I needed light and heat, and then, after enjoying my sandwiches and flask of coffee, I decided to risk a brief exploration on foot. I’d leave the lights on and the engine running so that I could re-trace the van. Perhaps this would help me find the exit?
    With my hand torch, I tried to determine my whereabouts but failed. In whatever direction I walked, I found nothing but more featureless expanse of runway and the thickest fog I’d ever encountered. I daren’t stray too far from the car either, in case I failed to re-locate it. And so, at 2.45am at the official termination of my break, I had no alternative but to recommence my circuits of the airfield.
    ‘Echo Seven,’ I introduced myself. ‘Resuming patrol at Ashfordly , towards Gelderslack.’
    ‘Received, Echo Seven,’ acknowledged Control.
    And so the second half of my shift began. The rain had ceased now, but the fog had not lifted and the darkness was just as intense, but I knew that before my knocking-off time at six o’clock, daylight would arrive. This would help me find a route off this awful place.
    For the next two and a half hours or so, I continued to providefictitious locations, listing places I would have visited during a normal night patrol. Happily, it was a very quiet night and I was never directed to any incident. And then, soon after I’d given my final location at 5.30am, the fog lifted. A gently breeze had risen as dawn was pushing the darkness aside, and I saw the distinct movement of the thick fog. Wisps began to float away and then, with remarkable speed, it began to disperse. In the daylight, I could now see the outline of some buildings and hazy roofs of the village on the edge of the airfield.
    And I was less than a hundred yards from the exit!
    I need hardly express the cheer that I felt as I drove out of that old gate, and with considerable relief, I made for home. According to the log-book which I had to complete, I had covered nearly forty miles around that airfield, a useful distance for a night patrol. My eyes were red-rimmed and sore with the strain of staring into that wall of fog, and I was mentally shattered.
    I arrived home at six o’clock to find Sergeant Blaketon and PC Clough waiting for me. They were in Sergeant Blaketon’s official car. Clough was to take the van out from 6am until 2pm, and on this occasion, Sergeant Blaketon had decided upon an early visit to both Ken Clough and myself. And he had undertaken to ferry my colleague to Aidensfield Police House to collect the van.
    ‘Morning Rhea,’ he said as I emerged, bleary-eyed and very anxious to get some sleep. ‘All correct?’
    ‘All correct, Sergeant,’ I managed to say.
    ‘The duty chap