In the short days and long nights of late December in the UK, daylight was at a premium. The uncertainty about what they’d come across in the miles ahead compounded their reluctance to take unnecessary risks. Though they’d likely have at least another hour of light ahead of them, the road they were following would soon pass between Pontefract and Knottingley, two reasonably large centres of population. There’d been unanimous agreement within the group that stopping and making camp sooner rather than later was preferable to pushing on and risking getting stuck near the two towns. Better to wait until morning, then make the final push to Ledsey Cross.
But Christ, even after so many weeks and months had passed, even out here in the middle of nowhere, the awful sights they uncovered were stil
