Constable Through the Meadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

Scarborough. No trace. Am resuming patrol. Over.’
    ‘Received Echo 7. Control out.’
    With the windscreen wipers assailing the tumbling rain, and the dense fog now blanketing the entire airfield, I screwed my eyes against the white screen outside. While I had been busily searching the buildings, the fog had dramatically intensified and now I could barely see the runway ahead of me. I could not determine the edges of the concrete …. I moved to one side, swerving to catch a glimpse of the runway’s extremities. I failed. The twin beams cut into the fog like two long shafts of solid light, but they did not penetrate it. The light simply reflected back at me. I was moving at less than walking pace now, my head out of the window hoping to see where I was heading …
    But I was hopelessly lost. I’d lost all contact with the buildings which had, to some extent, broken the fog’s density and I was encircled by a thick white blanket of dripping clinging mist. I was somewhere inside a dark fog-bound wilderness and had lost all sense of direction.
    I found myself fighting the onset of panic; I knew that I was only a few miles from home and from civilisation, but at the same time, could not find the route which led off this old airfield. It was almost like being trapped, like driving through a black, unlit tunnel and into a massive blockade of cotton wool; the mist was so thick that it had become a wall of brilliant white through which nothing could apparently pass. Although I was still driving, I had no impression of movement or distance for I could see nothing but the reflected glow of my headlights. I was upon a featureless plain and the headlights would not even pick out the surface of the runway. I had no idea whether I was in the middle, on the edge, doing a circuit of the perimeter track or simply driving around in circles on an expanse of featureless concrete. I have never been so helpless. It was like one of those nightmarish dreams that childhood worries can cause and there seemed no immediate relief.
    I knew it would become easier in daylight, but dawn was hours away, and I felt such an idiot. I was lost within such a small patch of England … but I could not stay here all night. I had to find a way off, and so I kept moving. Once or twice, I ran off the edge of the runway, but fortunately the ground was solid enough to carry the weight of the mini-van, and after each mishap I managed to regain the solid surface. I had no idea how long I’d been looking for the exit until my call-sign sounded from the radio.
    ‘Echo Seven, location please,’ asked the voice.
    I must have been chugging around for nearly half an hour! I did a rapid mental calculation. If I failed to reply to this request, Control would think I was missing or injured, and a search would be established. And in this fog, more officers could get lost as they hunted for me! Furthermore, at the last ‘locations’ I’d already said that I was resuming patrol and if I now announced that I was lost in the airfield, I’d look a real idiot in the eyes of our Control Room staff.
    Surely I would soon find the exit? I’d been going round in circles for ages, and must have covered miles, however slowly I’d been driving.
    ‘Echo Seven, not receiving. Echo Seven, location please,’ repeated the voice.
    ‘Echo Seven,’ I decided to pretend I was patrolling normally and made a guess about where I might have been if I’d emerged from the airfield. ‘Echo Seven. A170, travelling east and approaching Brantsford. Over.’
    ‘Received, Echo Seven. Echo Nine, your location please,’ all cars were now being asked this question.
    As the half-hourly ritual continued, I renewed my efforts to drive off the runway. Travelling at less than walking speed in the darkness, often with my head out of the window for better vision, I continued to search. But it was hopeless. By the time of the next ‘locations’ call, I was still on the airfield. But I daren’t admit