A COUPLE of years after the Second World War I was stationed with my regiment at Victoria Barracks, Windsor. I was young and gullible. At that time there were many war-hardened veterans still soldiering on. Their favourite sport was to inflict mischief upon the young soldiers.

The dreaded day arrived when I found myself detailed for guard duty at Windsor Castle. This was to be my first real public duty as a guardsman and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Two of the old soldiers saw fit to advise me on how to survive my approaching ordeal. "See yer on Castle Guard on Monday," said the one with a moustache like Jimmy Edwards. "We thought it'd be a good idea to give you a few wrinkles."

The one with the chest full of campaign medals said: "What you've got t' watch out for is doing sentry-go on that number seven post; all them statues come to life after midnight."

Number 7 post faced the east terrace garden, which had a ring of statues around a central objet trouv; during daylight hours it was a delight to behold.

After the guard-mounting ceremony, I read the sentry roster and to my horror found I was detailed for sentry-go for No 7 post, at midnight. So this was to be the end, come midnight I would either desert my post and disgrace the family name within the regiment, or be strangled by "one of them statues." As the clock struck the witching hour, the corporal of the guard marched us to our various posts. On the command "Sentries Pass," I saluted, ordered arms and stood at ease.

It was a warm summer night and the bright moon bathed the east terrace in silver tinsel. I was transfixed with fear and the sheer beauty of the scene. For fully 30 minutes I did not move, eyes swivelling from statue to statue. Then gradually the white knuckle grip on my rifle relaxed; this was nonsense, the statues were not going to move. I started to do my sentry duty properly, marching 15 paces to the right, 15 paces to the left.

The clock struck one o'clock. This was positively enjoyable, a beautiful moonlit night and me guarding Windsor Castle.

I halted in front of the sentry box, turned to the front and stood at ease. In the manner of countless sentries past, the mind drifted off into the land of nod. It is a kind of defence against the lonely two hour's sentry-go. My eyes were now gazing from space into space. Briefly, the moonlight was obscured by a cloud and an unreasonable fear gripped me as I realised I could not see the statues. Then suddenly, the terrace was bathed in silver light and, oh my God! The nearest statue was marching resolutely towards me. I could hear its footsteps; left, right; left, right.

"Halt," shouted the corporal of the guard. It was the 2am relief. As we marched away from the haunted east terrace, the corporal of the guard barked: "Hold yer 'end up Holmes, there's nothin' in it." But he was wrong, because my next guard was to be at the Tower of London. The old soldiers had told me that after midnight, at Traitors Gate, the ghost of... but that's another story.