He, along with his donkey and cart, was brought to the guardroom and locked-up to await the arrival of the civil police. When they arrived, I handed over to the officer who promptly gave him a size 10 crack on the head with his lathis. He dropped to the floor spark out and the last I saw of him was on the floor of the police Land Rover.

I was now left with a donkey and a cart full of swill. A search for the owner to collect the cart was unsuccessful and just as I went off duty, at 10.0pm, the donkey, which had been tied-up outside, slipped its halter and galloped across the mutti. Joseph, the local guardroom assistant, and I took up the chase.

The chase was brought to a sudden halt when we got as far as the main runway and I remembered that the North West Frontier Police guarded the airfield. It wasn’t a good thing to go charging around at night under their noses as their challenge of ‘halt’ was shouted at the same time as they fired. It was with great care that Joseph and I made our way back to the guardroom.

The problem now was that when the owner came for his cart there would be no donkey. We went off duty, Joseph promising that he would look for the animal in the morning as he was due back on duty at 6.0am, as was I.

Early next day Joseph arrived leading a great big dirty grey-coloured jackass. He declined to say where he had obtained it from and I could only assume that he had stolen it on his way to work. When I pointed out to him the difference, not only in colour but also in the sex between the two animals, he put forward the point that a bigger animal could pull bigger carts. When the owner finally arrived to collect his cart, it transpired that the original donkey had made its own way home. I can’t remember what story Joseph told about the grey animal but the man went away with it with a broad grin on his face.