Is there anyone here who remembers a mysterious Friday afternoon at Waddington, late ’69? 4.30 had come around and I was ready to jump into the Wolseley 1500 (after which we should have named our first son) and head off from Line Squadron to my new wife and married quarter at Birchwood. I got as far as the Main Gate where a line of plod’s was turning back all those trying to leave. And I mean all; no one was allowed out. I returned to the Line Squadron where the main man on the Ops squawk box (Flt Sgt Godfrey?) was desperately trying to find out WTFIGO. By this time the night shift had turned up and dozens of baffled grunts were walking aimlessly around the site. Ten minutes later and the WingCo Tech arrived to brief the throng. This was the first time I’d seen a senior officer lost for words and appearing genuinely worried. He didn’t know what was going on (and it was pretty obvious he was being honest) but it was ‘serious’. There’d been no sirens or Tannoyed “This is the Waddington Controller, Exercise Mickey Finn” – or whatever, but (apparently) Command had simply ordered a ‘maximum state of readiness - immediately’. I seem to remember that, as the evening wore on, aircraft were bombed up with the real thing on non QRA pads, which was unheard of. (Had the traditional QRA been abandoned by then?) Around 9pm things were settling down, but camp beds were appearing from the backs of trucks. Camp beds! – they were for Pongos! But camp beds it was. Overnight, or perhaps it was Saturday morning, rumours filtered through that the situation had eased and that we were to return to normal. What situation – that’s my question. Anyone with a decent memory have any ideas?