22 October 2025
It all began with a short post on my feed a picture of a man in the woods, captioned: Missing in the forest, need assistance. I stared at the screen, as if waiting for a sign. Im fortyeight, steady job, adult son living up in Manchester, and a habit of staying out of other peoples troubles. Yet that evening something nagged at me, a unease that felt as though a relative of my own had vanished. I clicked the link and messaged the searchteam coordinator, Lucy Alert.
Her reply was swift, polite, and filled with clear instructions. In the newcomers group they outlined the plan: meet on the edge of the village at seven oclock, bring a torch, some water and food, and warm clothes. Safety briefing first, they said. I packed my rucksack carefully an old thermos of tea, a firstaid kit, spare socks. A faint tremor ran through my fingers; it was odd to feel part of something larger than myself.
The house fell quiet: the telly was off, the kitchen smelled of freshly baked bread. I checked my phone Lucy had reminded me of the muster time. I wondered why I was heading out. Was it to test myself, to prove something to my son, or simply because I couldnt stand by? No answer came.
Night was already drawing in. Cars on the A34 whisked away other worries. A chill settled on my jacket collar. The volunteers gathered, a mixed lot some twenty years younger, others a few years older. Lucy, a woman with a sharp bob, ran through the briefing: stay with the group, keep the radio on, stick together. I nodded along with everyone else.
We set off toward the forest, following a low fence. In the dusk the trees grew taller, denser; the edge of the village was alive with birdsong and rustling leaves. Our torches cut patches of light through the damp grass and the occasional puddle left by the afternoon rain. I stayed near the centre of the line not at the front, not at the rear.
Inside, anxiety rose with each step into the darkness; every footfall felt like a new threshold of fear. The woods had their own chorus branches snapping together in the wind, a twig cracking somewhere to the right. Someone joked halfwhispered about training for a marathon. I kept quiet, listening inwardly as fatigue crept faster than my acclimatisation to night.
Each time Lucy halted us for a radio check my heart hammered harder. I feared missing a signal or losing my way through a moments inattention. Still, we followed the script: short commands over the air, roll call, a quick debate about taking the wet low ground on the right.
After about an hour we were deep enough that the village lights vanished behind the trunks. Our torches illuminated only a small circle around our boots; beyond it lay an unbroken wall of shadow. My back sweated beneath the pack, my boots grew soggy in the moist undergrowth.
Suddenly Lucy raised her hand we froze. In the gloom a soft voice called:
Anyone there?
Torches swung to a single point and a hunched figure emerged from the bushes. I stepped forward with two other volunteers.
The man was elderly, gaunt, with silver hair at his temples and dirtstained hands. His eyes darted anxiously among us.
Are you Ivan? Lucy asked quietly.
He shook his head.
No Im Peter I got lost earlier today My leg hurts I cant walk
A brief pause fell over the group: wed been looking for one person, and wed found another. Lucy radioed back to headquarters:
Found an elderly male, not our target, requires evacuation with stretcher at current coordinates.
While she sorted the details, I knelt beside Peter, pulled a spare blanket from my pack and draped it over his shoulders.
Been out here long? I asked in a low voice.
Since morning I was mushroompicking then lost the track and now this leg
His voice carried both exhaustion and a hint of relief.
Our mission shifted in an instant from searching to caring for a man we never expected to encounter. We inspected his swollen ankle; he clearly couldnt put weight on it. Lucy instructed everyone to stay put until the main rescue team arrived with a stretcher.
Time crawled. Dusk gave way to night. My phone showed a single bar of signal, the radio sputtered as the cold drained its battery. Soon the transmission cut out entirely. Lucy tried again to reach headquarters, but to no avail. By protocol we were to remain stationary and flash our torches at fiveminute intervals.
For the first time I was alone with fear; the forest grew thicker, louder, every shadow felt threatening. Yet Peter shivered under the blanket, murmuring something to himself. The volunteers formed a semicircle around him, shared the remaining tea from my thermos, offered a sandwich from their rations. Peters hands trembled more from cold than from pain.
Never thought someone would find me Thank you he whispered. I watched him, and something inside me steadied terror gave way to a firm calm. I realised I was no longer just looking after myself; staying with him mattered more than any instruction or dread.
The wind carried the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves; a distant owl hooted, stretching the night even further. We sat there long enough that time lost its meaning. Peter spoke of his youth during the war, of his late wife and a son who hardly visited. In that exchange I found more trust and humanity than in many meetings Id had over the past years.
The radios battery flickered a weak red glow; my phone was still dead. I knew one thing: leaving was not an option.
When a thin beam of torchlight finally cut through the fog, I hesitated, halfexpecting another endless wait. But two figures in yellow jackets emerged, followed by more people bearing a stretcher. Lucy called my name with relief in her voice. The rescue team quickly assessed Peter, splinted his ankle, and lifted him onto the stretcher. I helped hoist him, feeling my arms strain yet also a strange lightness the responsibility was now shared. A young volunteer winked at me, Hang in there, weve got you. I returned the nod, speechless.
Lucy briefed us: the link with headquarters had been reestablished half an hour ago; the base had dispatched two squads one to us, another northward following fresh traces of the missing man. She radioed: Team Twelve, elderly male ready for evacuation, condition stable, returning. The crackle was followed by a clear voice: Primary target located by another party. Alive and on foot. All clear.
I drew a breath. Peter clutched my hand tightly, as if reluctant to let go.
Thank you he breathed barely audible.
I met his gaze and, for the first time that night, felt I was part of something important, not merely a passerby.
The trek back was longer than it had seemed in the dark. We alternated carrying the stretcher first the younger lads, then I took the handle, feeling the grass shiver beneath our steps and the night air chill my face. Birds began to stir above the canopy; a thrush flickered past. Each step returned my body to its familiar fatigue, yet my mind stayed oddly calm.
At the forests edge the dawn greeted us with thin ribbons of mist. The volunteers whispered low jokes about nighttime fitness. Lucy stayed slightly ahead, checking her radio and noting the exit point for the base. I walked beside Peter until the ambulance arrived, making sure the blanket stayed in place.
When the ambulance door shut, Lucy thanked each of us in turn. She shook my hand a little firmer than the others.
You did more tonight than you imagined this morning.
Her eyes lingered on me; I felt a blush rise, but I didnt look away. Inside, something shifted the line between my own concerns and others seemed thinner.
On the drive back to my village, the road felt different: the dewy gravel under my boots, the soft squelch of my shoes in the grass. Pink streaks of sunrise split the grey sky over the thatched roofs. The air was heavy with damp, yet each footfall grew more assured.
The village was still asleep; windows dark, a few silhouettes drifted near the corner shop. I stopped at my gate, set my pack down, and leaned against the fence for a moment. A slight shiver ran through me, cold and lingering, but it no longer felt like weakness.
My phone buzzed with a new message from Lucy: Thanks for the night. Beneath it, another: Can we count on you again if needed? I typed back simply: Yes, absolutely.
I thought back to how such decisions once seemed foreign, beyond me. Now they felt natural. Fatigue no longer clouded my clarity; I knew I could step forward again.
I lifted my head; the sunrise spread wider, painting trees and rooftops with a rosy glow. In that instant I understood that being present and helping when called upon gave me a sense of purpose I had been missing. I was no longer a detached observer.
Lesson: true significance comes not from watching from the sidelines, but from standing beside those in need, even when the night is darkest.
