A few days ago, a post by another member of OS reminded me of a true incident that happened in my own experience. I thought of blogging this at the time, but decided to wait a bit as I had not been feeling well. I THINK I am on the road to recovery, so here is an attempt to blog those memories on here.

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It was back in the late 1970's. I was in the British Royal Air Force as an electronic Technician working on aircraft Communications, HF, VHF, UHF, radio navigational aids. In 1975, I had just been posted back from Cyprus where I served during the Military coup and subsequent Turkish invasions. It was not the first time that I had experienced life in the hot spots of the world. Always one is aware that one needs to be prepared for the unexpected.

However, now  I had been posted to an RAF station known as RAF Brawdy. It was on the south west of Wales in a county that has changed names a number of times, often known as Pembrokeshire, but then it was officially called Dyfed. A rural part of Wales, this has to be different to those  other experiences, the unexpected will never happen here ...... or could it?

It was lunch time. A colleague had asked me for a favour, could I  give him a lift into St Davids for a personal errand over lunch time. St Davids is the smallest city in the United Kingdom. It is so small that one could easily think of it as a village, but dont dare tell a local. According to the old British definitions a city is defined as a place that has a cathedral, and they not only have a cathedral, but unlike the ruins of some places this cathedral is still fully functional.

It is a city! The people of St Davids were proud of being a city.

If we had gone the other direction from the base we would have reached a town called Haverfordwest. By far a larger community, but never the status of being a city.

Lunch time came, and we set off. The city was just within our sights, and I saw a man lying in the middle of the carraigeway going the opposite direction. Our time was limited, but there was a greater need here, an old man lying in the road. He must be hurt bad. If he isnt, then he soon will be if someone does not help him before another driver runs over him.

We rushed across to where he lay. His beard and hair was long. His clothing was old and tattered. He was  what some would call a "Knight of the road". A tramp. No doubt other parts of the world will have their own unique names for such people, but at the end of the day they are still people. They are still a part of humanity in need of help.

We got down  on our knees within earshot of the man and asked how he was.  He raised his head slightly, looked in our direction, and asked

"Are  you heading towards Haverfordwest?"

"No"  we replied.

"Thats okay then, someone else will be along soon going in that direction. I will wait till they need to stop for me." Then he lowered his head, and continued to lie in the carraigeway heading towards ............. Haverfordwest.

We looked at each other, realising the strategy of  real brinkmanship that was being carried out by the man we had thought was a victim. Here was his way of getting a lift. It had to work better than thumbing a lift.......... but what a risk he was taking along the way.

I never saw that man again, I hope that it was because he survived, rather than ..............