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Friday 16th May
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We arrived at Okehampton Camp at 7.30p.m. The scene was one of a hotch-potch of tents by the hundred all pitched in gay abandon. It seemed that if there was an inch of space to be found, within minutes someone would pitch a tent on it.
The weather was hot and sunny - perfect. Everywhere there was an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation. Two thousand youngsters all roving round laughing, playing, being silly together and just enjoying each others company filled one with a sense of pleasure at being able to be a part of such happiness while at the same time being made very aware of one's own age and one's own youth long gone. Shreiks and giggles in the Army camp toilet and cries of, 'My God, What have we got here!' added to one's feelings of age.
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A visit to our son's base found the group poring over maps and planning their route for the weekend. Our son totally ignored our presence and carried on as if we were total strangers! A walk around camp meant picking one's way across a web of guy ropes and if you stood still for a long time to talk to anyone you were likely to have a tent put up over you. The hub-bub, thrill, tension and sense of expectation in such a large group of teenagers has to be experienced to be believed. We returned to our caravan parked overlooking Dartmoor and Okehampton, to watch a glorious red sunset which was a perfect end to an evening high in expectation.
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Saturday 17th May
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We were woken at 4.00a.m. to the strains of 'Chariots of Fire' and that lovely theme song from 'The Life and Times of David Lloyd George' blasting out over the tannoy.
Somehow those tunes will never be the same again! We were woken also to the sounds of...yes...wind, rain and the sight of heavy mist.
We managed breakfast in bed and a hot cup of tea before working our way into layers of clothes, waterproofs and boots in order to venture out into the storm. We crossed the pitch which only a few hours earlier had been a buzz of excitement but which now was full of youngsters already wet and dripping, carrying their heavy loads. Faces which last night were happy and carefree were now wet, long and bearing worried expressions. Last night's excitement was now well and truly dampened and subdued. And yet underlying it all one could still sense the anticipation and excitement as well as the tension.
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A seething mass starts to make its way up the hill towards the starting point. The wind is blowing the rain horizontally and it beats like nails into your face. The one good thing at least is that a dripping wet face disguises the tears in one's eyes at being amongst a mass of youngsters that stretches out as far as the eye can see both out in front and out behind. My son is one of them - even if he has disowned me! I wonder if he feels as proud and humble as I do at this moment?
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Assembly on the hill is controlled by crackly instructions over the tannoy - can someone actually make out what is being said? As the masses still stream onto the hillside one is surrounded by conversations ranging from last minute orders:- 'When you come in, smarten up and march in in twos,' to the inevitable ' Can't think of anything better than getting up at 6 on a Saturday morning for this can you?' - 'Oh, you had a lie-in did you?' or 'I can't get over the enthusiasm on the kids faces can you?'
A town crier leads a group of youngsters in and a bagpiper leads in a marching troop. Clothes range from shorts (yes - shorts) to jeans, but those actually walking are in waterproofs - already sodden from head to foot. Flags abound as do funny hats.
The soldier in charge calls to order and gives instructions to collect route cards. Then a crackly prayer over the tannoy before a Lord Mayor fires a starting gun to set thousands of youngsters walking, running or marching up their designated tor.
Thank goodness for the rain to hide more tears and the wind to excuse red eyes! Last minute calls for groups who have not collected their route cards and I am asked - 'Well, aren't you glad you came?' The answer? It's cold, it's wet, up hill and down in an icy gale and it's still not seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, but yes, I'm glad I came.
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Saturday p.m.
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What a dreadful day! We should have known when the helicopters started taking off at 10.30 that all was not well.
The rain and the wind gusted all morning and the walk up the hill to check on the boy's progress became more and more of a battle. Surprisingly the group passed through the first three tors amazingly quickly but then came the agonising wait - no news at all from Rough Tor - the boys fourth.
We strolled back to the hangar to watch the end of the Special Event and the presentations, to a slight let up in the rain but none in the wind. The Special Event presentations were wonderful to watch and there was hardly a dry eye in the place. We spoke to an obviously upset Mum whose handicapped son had to drop out as the wind upsets his balance. My heart went out to her as I knew what she was going through with no news of our son. And yet she cheerily wished me luck for my son before she went off in tears.
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During the presentations the heavens opened and the wind increased even more - a situation which was to continue unabated for the next eight hours. We returned to site in almost impossible conditions after having climbed once more to the top of the hill to check on Alastair - still no news from Rough Tor.
The helicopters by now were working non-stop although how they took off in the gale force ten conditions reported on the official weather board, goodness only knows. We knew that already seventeen of the twenty groups on our son's route had crashed out 'I'd have crashed out hours ago,' was our parting shot from a soldier in the communications shed. We spent an agonising evening to constant helicopter call-outs, unbelievable weather and mists closing in fast.
News on BBC television reported worst conditions in the event's twenty-seven year history and hundreds of children being pulled off Dartmoor by the army.
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Miraculously at 8.00p.m. news arrived that Alastair's team was still going strong but that all teams had been pulled in for the night and all teams still in were safe. Wonderful news to go to bed on despite storms still raging outside.
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Sunday 18th May
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We were woken at 5.30a.m. to the helicopters starting out again. They eventually stopped at about 9.30p.m. last night but soon resumed this morning at daybreak. At least the sun is shining even though the wind is still strong.
A walk up to the communications shed across the field is like crossing a battlefield. Tents are flattened or flapping loose in the wind, paths are reduced to a quagmire and everywhere are long sad faces of youngsters in tears having been pulled off the moor obviously feeling hurt and demoralised.
It is sad that so much optimism from Friday night can turn to such despair. Word had gone around the camp that some 1800 children had already been lifted from the moor. At the communications shed, the news was that Alastair had reported in at another two tors. We waited for the next report but there followed another agonising wait as no news came yet again. After an hour in the shed we made our way back to the van to only get half way down the hill to hear for our team manager to report to fall-out - please God it can't have now wrong now for them surely!
The following half hour waiting for news was almost too much to bear. Eventually news came through that three members of the team had had to drop out but that the three remaining had teamed up with another group and were continuing - and yes - one of them was Alastair. God, what a weekend of mixed emotions. I would never have thought it possible to go through such extremes in so little time. By mid-day our team had reported in at a further tor - surely they must make it now!
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The afternoon saw a gradual build-up of spectators to watch the successful make their entry. No news of our team since 12.30p.m. and two tors still to do before five o'clock - they've got to do it. By four o'clock several teams had reported in. Helicopters were still going out and still there was no news of Alastair on the last two tors - where are they?
Suddenly news arrives that they had reported in at the last tor at 3.05p.m. They should be in at 4.30 on that estimation! Tensions are running very high - please let them do it!
At 4.30 the hillside becomes a mass of teams coming in. From nowhere suddenly everyone is coming in, but no sign of Alastair. We scan the horizon until a shout from behind us reveals three bedraggled boys - one with a high rucksack (Jason) one I do not recognise (Lyndon) and one unmistakably Alastair!
What I feel inside is indescribable - I dare not speak to Alastair as he passes by to tumultuous applause. He looks totally exhausted, but he has made it!
Out of 2,400 starters only 300 finish but he is one of them! I couldn't feel more proud. After an interminable wait his team receives their medals from one of the organising officers. Then it's a meal, back to the van, strip out of sodden wet clothes and collapse into bed in the motor caravan for the journey home. He tells us stories of falling up to the waist in a bog, joining up with a girls team who on the flutter of eyelids could get preferential treatment from the soldiers (!), jogging most of the way home in order to beat the five o'clock deadline and walking around the army point in mist on Great Mis Tor before actually finding it!
Yes, an absolutely wonderful weekend of up and down emotions never felt before, a weekend of appalling weather conditions and of seeing great happiness turn to great despair. But an experience of a lifetime and one to savour for a long time to come.
Well done everyone, but especially Alastair!