. ‘But good on ye for doing it’ he adds warmly before leaving reassured on his blood pressure. ‘Prescriptions for the prevention of nuclear war’ are being handed out and banners held high by nurses, a vet, an OT, doctors and medical students – as well as Medact Vice- President Helen Zealley and Vice-Chair Robin Stott. The message given out loud and clear is that we believe it is illegal, immoral and unethical to possess weapons of mass destruction and we are taking a stand against a government whose policy contravenes the professional Hippocratic code - ‘first do no harm’.
This is the first stage of our joining the Faslane 365 year-long protest at the nuclear submarine base on the Gareloch, a shining inlet of the Clyde sheltered by rolling hills. (Strange how most nuclear installations are sited in stunning scenery.) Almost 500 protesters have already been arrested, and some of us are minded to increase that number.
1600 Lesley has arranged a rousing Burns Night celebration, so we are transported by minivan complete with piper Ewan Ross and haggis to the car park near the North Gate of the base. En route we pass triple razor wire fence and are serenaded by kennelled guard dogs. Cripes.
We are greeted by a massive posse of police inside the barriers on either side of the road into the base. We introduce ourselves and many heartfelt but good-natured conversations ensue. The megaphone comes in handy again to spread the reasons for our presence to those in the cars coming in and out of the base. Soon the police offer to take some of us across the road to put up banners on the other side. BBC Scotland arrives and does interviews. Some photographers also appear.
It begins to get dark and a tartan cloth is laid on the pavement. As Ewan begins to pipe in the haggis a reinforcement of police suddenly trots up from the direction of the car park. Lesley addresses the haggis in true Burns style concluding with ‘and man to man the world o'er shall brithers be for a' that’. She hands the haggis over the barrier. The police look bemused.
We pile back into the minivan and return to the Glasgow Youth Hostel, wondering how on earth with so many police we will ever manage to deposit our bodies in front of the gates tomorrow. Maybe we will have to make do with a side road. After supper the nine who are the forward group develop Plan A and Plan B. We’ve given up the idea of doing another Treatment not Trident clinic - there’s no room. We are mightily encouraged by the others who form the support group. They will deal with any legal issues, help make our arrests as safe and painless as possible - and two of them will meet us when we come out.
2340 I pack my belongings, putting aside warm clothes for the blockade and my brilliant yellow Trident Health Warning t-shirt. I toss and turn in my bunk bed unable to sleep. This time tomorrow I’ll probably be in a cell somewhere on a mattress. Am I mad?
Friday 27 January
0500 I stumble out of bed feeling sick. I look out of my window at the lights of Glasgow below and the Clyde in the distance and think of all those fortunate people who have nothing better to do today than go to work. We collect some food to take with us and pose on the steps of the hostel for a group photoshot.
0730 It’s still dark when we clamber out of the van at the Faslane car park. Traffic is pouring into the base, the air is thick with fumes and police are again a solid presence as we set ourselves up with our banners. The drivers going into the base refuse to make eye contact but again we use the megaphones to convey our message as best we can.
0830 Diana asks the police if some of us can take the banners across the road, and an officer kindly escorts us. Almost at the other side she lies down suddenly and the rest of us fall back onto the tarmac with our heads towards the gates. Then we link arms and hold fast.
I lie there looking up at the beautiful hillside above and suddenly feel very calm and ‘fit for purpose’. The police are loudly cautioning us, will you get up or you will be under arrest? No. Will you walk to the van? No. Some of us walk and some are carried to the police vans in another car park by the cemetery. We are searched, photographed, and charged in a hut, then put back in the vans with our escorts. I am the prisoner of a charming young WPC from Cumbernauld who had to get up at 0300 to come on duty. We drop the two men off at Dumbarton police station and then we seven women are driven on to Clydebank. One officer suggests we may not be let out until Monday. Help.
1100 My wrists are held by my WPC escorts while I am charged at the station desk with Breach of the Peace and Resisting Arrest. It’s Trident that is breaching the peace. All my belongings are removed except for my notebook and glasses, and they give me a pencil on request. A minute later I’m ushered through a heavy door which shuts with a crash behind me. The cell is small, not quite clean, lit by a dingy skylight and a small electric light over the door. It has the bare necessities: a lavatory pan with toilet paper in the corner by the door, a low platform and thin plastic mattress at the back of the cell, and two bits of polyester curtain material for blankets. There’s nowhere to wash.
Alone. The only way to track time passing is by the light changing through the dingy skylight. Impotence. The door can only be opened from without, and has a shutter through which food (horrible) is passed. But there’s a bell I can ring for water. There’s a deep hum from the aircon vents by the door; the only other sounds are footsteps in the corridor, doors clanging shut and, later, some weird wailing noises which turn out to be another protester singing.
I do some yoga, write in my notebook (later get a new pencil, even), and eventually curl up under the material and have a snooze. (Lesley in the next cell is so exhausted she falls asleep on the platform straight away and is sorry to wake up. But she organised the protest.) The thought of spending the weekend here is impossible. I ask the attendant when we shall be released and she comes back later with the Duty Officer. It will be later in the afternoon after the outmuster is finished. Outmuster? ‘When the traffic is all out of the base so you can’t interfere again.’ Oh.
1730 The key turns, the door opens – freedom! I collect my outer clothes and other belongings from the desk and – joy - our support team are in the waiting room to take us away. Lesley is pleased we have lost our ‘arrest virginity’ together and we both rejoice it’s over so quickly. Now I await the letter from the Procurator Fiscal. (The decision conveyed by letter in March was not to take proceedings on the criminal charge.)
Saturday 28 January
1000 Debriefing at the Youth Hostel. A success we feel and a steep learning curve. Major thanks to Lesley and Diana for excellent organisation, to Alison and Rowland for media work, to Jeff for photography, and to all legal and other supporters. There are suggestions there should be another health professionals’ protest later in the year including more students.
PS: I have decided to withdraw my offer to replace Trident
(see Communiqué # 42, Winter 2005)
1. I couldn’t live comfortably inside such high razor wire what with the noise and the fumes and knowing I was wasting so much police time and taxpayers’ money;
2. I couldn’t live without a sense of being fit for purpose.
3. Lesley handed the disembowelled haggis into the base with a fair skirmish of pipes – Trident replacement enough you would think. And we should leave it at that.
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A shortened version of this diary can be found in the Spring 2007 issue of Communiqué. More information on and photographs of the health professionals’ protest can be found on http://faslane365.org/health_professionals.
