I discovered that it falls very dark very quickly on a fell in winter. By the time I got to the bottom of the other side it was dusk. Trees in the field ahead looked smudged and inky. Five minutes later everything was black. I didn’t want to risk making the climb back up the fell in the dark so I would have to try and find a way around. I had vague memories of Jon talking about this side of the fell and I thought if I headed left I would eventually come to a small road that would lead me back to the main road and finally our house. It would take for ever, but it would be safer. I never did find a road though. After twenty minutes of running and falling through black fields I gave up. I considered my situation. I was on the wrong side of the fell, in the pitch black, in the rain, in my shorts. I started to shiver. I turned full circle on the spot and saw my only option. Twinkling lights three fields away. I hoped it was a farmhouse. I hoped they had a phone. I headed for the lights as quickly as I could on my cold and wobbly legs.
Normally I would hesitate at knocking on a stranger’s door and asking for favours but I was in no position to be to embarrassed or shy. I banged my frozen fist against the door as hard as the pain would let me. My teeth started to chatter. A white-haired man pulled the door open wide and stood tall and solid in front of me, unfazed by the wind that ruffled his beard and shot past us both and into his house. I explained, as best I could through the shivering, that I was lost and asked if I could use his phone. He stood aside and let me in. He didn’t seem surprised that a bedraggled boy in his dirty and wet school sports kit had just knocked on his door in the middle of nowhere half an hour after dusk. He told me to sit by the fire first, to get warmed up, and went to get me a towel. I sat on the edge of a dark leathery chair with a towel wrapped round my shoulders and held my hands out towards the orange and red coals. When my mouth calmed down enough for me to speak I told the white-haired man that my name was Luke Redridge, that I lived over the other side of Bowland Fell. He said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Luke Redridge’, and carried on reading his newspaper. When he could see I’d warmed up enough he took me through to his phone and I attempted to dial. It was an ancient phone. You had to put your finger in a little hole above the number and pull the dial as far as it would go to the right. Then you had to wait for the dial to spin back to where it started from before you could start with the next number. It took about twenty minutes to get to the end of our number. Finally it started ringing and thank God Dad was home. I asked if he could pick me up and he asked where I was. I put my hand over the receiver and asked the man where we were. He took the phone from me and gave Dad directions. Two cups of tea later I heard the Volvo pull up outside. I took a last swig and thanked the man for everything. He told me any time and didn’t get up. I found my way back out of the house, walked out to the car and climbed in. As I pulled my seatbelt over, Dad asked if I felt better now. I nodded and said I definitely did. I told him I felt pretty good. He asked if I’d learnt anything and I said I had. If you have freezing-cold fingers, so cold you can’t feel them any more, don’t shove them in front of a burning-hot fire. It feels like your bones have turned to iron and are trying to tear their way out from underneath your skin.