Constable Through the Meadow Read Online Free PDF Page A

perhaps to conceal themselves in the old ruins so that their love-making was kept a secret from prying eyes, as well as from suspicious husbands, wives and neighbours.
    Squatters, tramps, down-and-outs and persons on the run from life, from HM Forces, from the police or from their families would sometimes hide here too.
    The area covered by the old airfield was huge; remnants of the Air Traffic Control Tower remained, as did buildings which had been Station Headquarters, Squadron offices, hangars, sleeping accommodation, etc. Many of them were windowless, some were roofless and none had been officially occupied or used for almost a quarter of a century. In the broad light of day, the airfield reeked of dereliction and decay, although the old runways themselves were in fairly good order. They were like huge modern highways which crossed and re-crossed this patch of Ryedale and they had survived surprisingly well without any formal maintenance. The area between them comprised overgrown  grass, weeds and scrubland, although some of the fertile areas had been leased to a local farmer who managed to grow wheat there.
    No one seemed quite sure who owned the airfield; perhaps the Air Ministry had forgotten it was there, perhaps someone had purchased it years ago and had no idea what to do with it …. I never knew. What I did know, however, was that the deserted runways were regularly used by learner drivers, by young men who fancied themselves as racing motorists, by teenage motor-cyclists who roared about the place doing crazy things with their moving machines such as wheelies or headstands on the saddles, and even by pedal-cyclists who organised time trials and races around the perimeter track.
    The old notices saying ‘Trespassers will be Prosecuted’ or ‘Air Ministry Property - Keep Off’ had fallen down and although there could have been a question of illegal use, it was not the job of the civilian police to enforce any such rules. We knew that the public, rightly or wrongly, made use of the old airfield and we did not raise any formal objection because we knew where many of the youngsters got to. They were safe here, far better using this enclosed area for racing or showing off than attempting their doubtful skills on the open road.
    So we closed our ‘official’ eyes to the many trespassers although, at night, we did make routine patrols through the airfield, checking for possible lawbreakers who might dump stolen cars here, steal bits from the buildings, cause damage or perform a host of other illegal acts. Children on the run from school or home were another aspect of our searches, as were depressed folks who wanted to be left alone with their thoughts, or even to commit suicide.
    One night in early May, I was performing an all-night duty, having started at 10pm. I booked myself on duty from home by ringing Eltering Police Station at 10pm and asked for any routine messages. I was given a list of unsolved crimes committed locally during the day, plus details of a car which had been stolen from Scarborough. It was a Ford Consul, five years old and a dark green colour, and it had been stolen from outside the Spa before eight that evening.
    According to the police at Eltering, a villager from Stovensbyhad telephoned at quarter to ten to report a car with blazing lights repeatedly circling the old airfield at high speed. There was just a possibility that it was the missing vehicle in the hands of joy-riders, as other cars stolen from the coast had been found abandoned here.
    I was therefore asked to check out this report.
    It was a foul night with pouring rain and lingering mist as I arrived in Stovensby village. The time would be around 10.20pm and the late spring dusk had matured into a heavy darkness due to the weather. I drove the little van down to the fallen gate which marked the entrance to the airfield, the windscreen wipers having trouble coping with the teeming rain. I extinguished the van lights as I peered