Attitudes to nukes

My February copy of "Nuclear-free Scotland" came yesterday, and two items caught my attention in such a way to remind me of my ongoing paranoia about the place in relation to the peace movement of the church to which I belong. The first was the poster replicated above. It's three years, I think, since last I attended a demo, and I feel the urge to do so again. This one looks as if it could be combined with a pleasurable family visit - though I don't know if her parents would allow my granddaughter to come with me. But the best bit of all came when I saw that tiny, red badge at the right of the list of supporters, just beside the nasty Trident sub. If you don't recognise it, it's the badge of the Scottish Episcopal Church. My church. And I think: yes, things have changed. I don't think I'd be chucked out of the Brownies quite so readily nowadays for being too vocal against nukes.

The second item of interest was chilling. In 1958, Prime Minister Harold MacMillan sent a memo to a member of his Cabinet, Dr Charles Hill. It read:

"It is most important that we should find some way of organising and directing an effective campaign to counter the current agitation against this country's possession of nuclear weapons. This is a question on which the natural emotions of ordinary people would lead them to be critical of the Government's policy, and to accept without question or reason the arguments which our opponents use. ....

...Can we persuade some influential publicists to write articles? Are there any reliable scientists? Or Church of England Bishops?"

Apparently MacMillan "considered whether (he) might write to the Archbishop of Canterbury asking him to warn local clergy not to help the (Aldermaston) demonstrators"

A week later, in a memo of April 2nd, he reported:

"Active steps are being taken to identify the intellectuals, Churchmen, scientist and others who support the Government in the controversy over this country's possession of nuclear bombs."

By the following year, Hill reported that "a modest beginning" had been made towards mobilising church support for the H-bomb programme. The folder which produced most of this information (PREM 11/2778) is followed by four others marked 'Closed for the next 100 years'.

Fascinating stuff. But not really so long ago - at a time when our churches were full on Sundays and clergy held in respect by most of society. Makes you wonder, really. I think we're a lot healthier nowadays - as long as senior clergy feel able to resist the temptation to climb onto fences.

1984 revisited : No picnic

Peacewomen's picnic
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

It’s an interesting experience, appearing in court. Although I’d been a juror in the High Court in Glasgow, it wasn’t really any preparation for the strange intimacy of the local Sheriff Court, where the twenty-seven women who were arrested at the January demo were tried over the weeks after Easter. I’d had a couple of visits to earlier trials – a typical fine handed out would be £70 for painting a CND symbol on a wall, but few of the women intended to pay fines, so were facing a week in Cornton Vale instead. On the day when this photo was taken, however, I was appearing as an expert witness – expert by mere dint of being local, I might add – as well as gracious hostess to a picnic in my back garden for the women who turned up in support of their friends.

It’s fair to say that, unlike the women on trial, I enjoyed my time in court. I had a chance to point out the anomaly that had women arrested for trespassing on American property on one day of the year when at any other time you would be greeted politely and asked if you needed help to find someone. I appeared in disguise, of course – little black cotton dress (with pink rosebuds all over it), black fitted jacket, dark tights, high heels – and smiled at the Fiscal and took the oath rather than merely affirming. (On another occasion the Fiscal and I had played in the same amateur orchestra, but that’s small towns for you). At the end of my first stint in the box, he invited the Sheriff to agree that I was “a charming witness” – a claim which caused loud hilarity in the public benches. And I’m happy to say that everyone for whom I appeared got off, and to express my admiration of these young women who conducted their own defence.

Of course, all this had its downside, and that, I’m afraid, happened in church. Because I’d arranged for some of the women to camp in the church grounds that week, I was denounced (seriously!) at the end of the Eucharist, and before we knew it our church wasn’t somewhere we felt we could go any more. A young cleric, a distinct lack of moral courage, a deeply conservative congregation and some economy with the truth left us stranded. At the time we didn’t see it coming, though hindsight - and a friendly policeman – pieced it all together afterwards. Of course there was a lot more to it than I can possibly write about, and looking back over twenty-five years it seems almost unbelievable. And it is thinking about this that led me to consider what I’d have done with this blog had I been writing it in 1984.

Only thing was: we weren’t on our own. There was a choir. Mr B’s choir. They vanished, along with us. And they deserve another post.

1984 revisited: Easter Alert

Banner
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

Easter 1985 saw the Scottish CND annual march and rally come to Dunoon. Easter Alert took place on Holy Saturday: April 21.

The rain is falling steadily as I walk down to the coal pier in Dunoon. Upstairs in the Queen’s Hall, our local MP, the Conservative John Mackay, is fending off Mr B, who is questioning him about Environmental Impact Statements and the like, while a colourful crowd pours off the ferry and mills about in the road. Eventually we march off, with me as one of the speakers at the head along with Keith Bovey and Michael Pentz. My boys are there too – chaps welcome on this occasion. We are filmed for the TV evening news (we’re home in time to see it) in Argyll Street and spirits are high as we strike out over the High road to Sandbank.

Apparently there are 2,000 marchers by the time we snake round via the American Base (Keith Bovey hands over a petition and a letter to the commander) and back along the shore road to the Black Park in Kirn. Despite my best efforts I have been unable to secure the use of the stadium: it is being used by the American Wives for some event. This makes for a good opening crack in my Welcome speech – I am the first speaker, standing on the back of a lorry with a magnificent sound system which has my words reverberating around the houses in Ardenslate. The rain has almost stopped, though I notice my children, their grandmother and Mr B still huddling under a large umbrella. I wonder if it is shame that keeps them hiding there, but by this time the crowd is laughing at my jokes and applauding the odd bit of demagoguery and I realise I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. The other speakers – Bovey, Marjorie Thomson and the actor Bill Patterson – follow; we wander round chatting as the sun comes out and begin to think of tea.

As often on such occasions, I reflect that the best bit of the day is the march. Rallies are often quite tedious, unless there are stellar speakers, and when it is over there is this sense of anti-climax. The boys, however, are keen to get home and see if they’re on telly. They are. The day has been a success, and I have discovered the joys of public speaking. I shall never be the same again.

And in the evening, at the Easter Vigil service, my no.1 son is confirmed. In the light of what will soon happen in the church, it is a strange juxtaposition. But at the time it seems a fitting end to such a day.

Old times

A break from writing about Madeira - though I'm pleased so many people have taken the trouble to tell me how much they've enjoyed the recent posts. I suddenly remembered today that I had a dental appointment - a wee filling to deal with a chipped front tooth. (I'll be interested to see how long the filling lasts - the first test was my sourdough bread, the crust of which is of adamantine hardness)

Anyway, I was hailed in the dentist's waiting room by a former Chief Inspector of police, with whom I used to have dealings when I was involved in arranging CND demos in the Holy Loch area. He had been listening to a news item about the possible removal from the Clyde of the Trident missile base because of changed political circumstances, and had thought ... of me. Really. The picture that had come to mind was of himself supervising a march when he was seized by me and a fellow-demonstrator (now high in the reaches of school management) and had to walk the route of the march with his arms linked in ours. I recall this incident - we always tried to remain on the very best of terms with our local police - but had never known that his superiors, monitoring events in an unmarked car, had passed and noted it. Later, they had remonstrated with him that he wasn't supposed to join the demo.

And now Site One is no more, we have a Scottish government who want rid of nuclear weapons, and we were free to reminisce and reveal how close our politics had always been. An antidote, somehow, to current news stories.