‘It’s a battle that’s just starting’

"It's the chief!" declares my police escort for the night, PC Richard Hughes, as he reaches for the radio handset.

I'm surprised and impressed. PC Hughes? Not so much.

"I understand you have a member of the press with you this evening?" the chief enquires.

My mind races - what have I done to jeopardise, in no order - the police force of Milford Haven, the Mercury, myself or the chief?

My chaperone affirms my presence in the unmarked vehicle currently cruising Milford Haven's streets.

"Good... very good," the voice crackles through the static. "Take him for a foot patrol of the Mount..."

The Mount. On foot. On Saturday night. The Saturday that Wales won the Grand Slam in sensational style? The Saturday that immediately follows Thursday's Police Not Welcome on Troubled Estate headline?

I don't know who to thank first.

I suspect my news editor might have suggested this particular excursion in the pursuit of hard-hitting journalism.

The "police not welcome" remark was made to Swansea Crown Court by former PCSO Mark John who worked in the area.

Strong debate echoed throughout the Mercury office following the printing of that headline.

"How about we walk through the centre of the estate?"

I check my watch to find it's fast approaching 10pm. But when I step out of the unmarked car - the only thing I'm struck by is how sleepy it seems. There's no-one about as we begin our moonlit stroll through the alleys and past the playgrounds of the Mount.

There's no movement anywhere. No people, no cars, just the hum of central heaters, exhaling steam into the night.

We walk on. A young man approaches walking his dog and cheerfully greets us, followed by another man who does the same.

They recognise PC Hughes, I realise. They know him here, greet him with obvious respect and even fondness. This is not how I pictured it.

"Let me show you the mural," my companion suggests. "It's in this dark tunnel."

"Great!" I laugh. Down a ramp, under the road, PC Hughes flicks on his torch, illuminating an underwater scene, like a Disney poster about mermaids and sunken treasure.

"This was part of a community project in October," says PC Hughes. "The kids police it themselves."

Scanning the length of the tunnel wall in the torch light, I concur that the mural has not been defaced or altered in any way, and is just as enchanting as it was when it was created.

We continue past the school, and remark sadly on its forthcoming closure at the end of the year. The council is hoping to make a safe route to the Meads for the kids, I mention hopefully, but it seems a trivial point.

There's no one about. It is a ghost estate. No traffic. This is a different kind of Saturday night for me, fresh off the train from Cardiff, where it's guaranteed bedlam right about now.

We hop back in the car. I'm almost disappointed there's no incident tonight, but a little relieved.

Earlier in the night, we whizzed down to Milford Marina, past Cedar Court and the new buildings to discover a gang of nine teenage girls with carrier bags full of heavy bottles.

Straight down to business, PC Hughes asks who supplied the alcohol being consumed and carried. They claimed it was a stranger.

PC Hughes empties an unmarked bottle onto the ground to gasps and groans from the assembled teens.

"I'm seizing all this," he tells them. "I don't know what's in there - but I know I'm not leaving you with it."

He collects the bags and places it in the back seat. He takes down names and address details and directs the girls home.

The six girls quietly leave the scene and make their way up Hamilton Terrace. Three appear to be walking in the same direction as we continue our patrol.

"I have a zero-tolerance policy for underage drinking," PC Hughes tells me as we drive to Hakin CP School grounds.

"We'd like to catch the suppliers... but even stran-gers will buy booze for these kids."

Hakin school entrance harbours teenagers on occasion but not tonight.

The nearby estate in Hubberston seems subdued so we cross back into town, passing six of the original gang from the marina.

"They're making their way home as they said," Richard points out. "Bless em.

"You have to wonder if the parents know what their children are up to, or if they're concerned at all.

"We found a girl in that field," he indicates a football ground at Marble Hall that we are checking. "She was comatose and it was minus two degrees. She was 15.

"We were lucky to find her in time."

We pass this very girl later, out with her friends. She seems incredibly small and vulnerable. Richard recognises all the kids, they're all familiar faces. By now they know him too, handing over the booze with resigned shrugs. They know it's wrong, hate to see it go, but seem to lack something on which to focus.

I think about the expectation to drink so much in Britain. European teens tend to congregate in the town or village square on weekend evenings - but there's no thought given to alcohol until much later in life, and then with relative moderation.

On three Milford teens aged between 13 and 16,we find two litres of alcopops, Vodka and a two litre bottle of a unidentified solution that was disposed of at the scene. Even for a seasoned drinker with a high tolerance, this is an excessive amount.

PC Hughes shakes his head as we ponder the haul of seized booze. "It's a battle that's just starting."