The following account will NOT be attributed: the people involved do not wish to be identified for fear of ridicule. That does not, of course, mean that this tale is untrue!

Many, many years ago, when I was still young and fit, I trained to be a Naval Pilot. My Officer training took place at the Naval academy at Dartmouth, in Devon, but every day I was 'bused' down to an airfield near Plymouth, for basic flight training.

The airfield was a pre-war grass strip : at the time commercial flights to the Scilly Isles had just been initiated and a concrete runway added.
After some weeks of instruction, upper airwork and countless 'circuits and bumps', I finally flew solo: the most nerve-wracking experience of my life at the time! But worse was to follow!

A little later I carried out a navigation exercise: this involved flying west along the coast to Lands End before returning cross country to base. I was flying the training workhorse of the era: the delightful de Havilland Chipmunk.

Everything went well until I began the return leg over Bodmin Moor: scanning ahead, I was dismayed to see a grey mass of cloud covering the general region of the airfield. Trying to keep calm, I contacted the control tower, who confirmed the unexpected situation and suggested an alternate: the prospect of trying to land on an unfamiliar runway was not an attractive one to a tyro pilot such as I then was.....
By now I was flying above the cloud which stretched in three directions as far as I could see. I was about to begin the turn towards my new landing site when, about two hundred metres ahead, a yellow-painted Tiger Moth emerged from the enveloping cloud-base. I could plainly see the leather helmeted and goggled pilot as he turned in his open cockpit, first giving me a 'thumbs up' then an unmistakable downward jab that indicated I should follow him......

Greatly relieved, I did as I was bidden, and, despite the swirling grey mist, managed to keep the cheery yellow aircraft in view.
Suddenly we broke out of the cloud, and I found myself perfectly positioned for a straight-in approach to Runway 13 (!) For once, I made a perfect landing, and taxied over to the line of parked Chipmunks. After completing post-flight checks and so on, I walked to the crew-room to report.
As soon as I entered, I began to receive a ferocious tongue-lashing for not taking the alternate and risking a visual landing through low cloud. When my instructor paused for breath, I told him what had occurred, and added that I had thought the airfield had sent up a 'shepherd' to guide me down.
Mr Pugh stared at me thoughtfully before speaking.

In June 2002 we left our home in Brixham for Ireland, crossing from Fishguard to Roslaire. We had both long held a desire to see the Giants Causeway: we were not disappointed: it was wonderful and really lent itself to photography.
From there we travelled down the west coast, looking for the camp site at Lough Arrow. On one of the many twisting lanes we passed the ruins of Ballindoon Priory We decided to eat and shower at the camp site and return later before dark. This we did: such a peacfull place, though inhabited by millions of midges!
I was alone inside the priory when I felt a strange cold come over me, then a sudden slap on the back of my neck! Somewhat disconcerted, I made my way outside to Sue , where I took about six photos.