A ring of song

Susan Bennet tells the story of a visit to the Houses of Parliament

The debate on the renewal of our weapons of mass destruction delivery system, Trident, took place on Monday 18 July. I received a letter inviting me to take part in a protest demonstration sent by two members of the women’s peace action group, the Gareloch Horticulturists. I have had the privilege of being a member of this group for some years now.

Since I had not taken part in the mass demonstration held in London, I decided that this time I would move myself along. The encouragement of my husband, Peter, helped me to make the decision.

I found myself on Newcastle Central Station on the preceding Sunday, where I took a phone call from my son, who lives in London. Unable to deny that I was on my way to London, I couldn’t say why – owing to the need for quiet about the action on the lines of electronic communication.

Ten of us met up in Westminster Meeting House, near to Trafalgar Square, including Angie Zelter, Brian Larkin and Jane Tallents – all long time peace activists and members of Trident Ploughshares, a group dedicated to nonviolent direct action against the Trident nuclear weapons system. We were very grateful to Westminster Quakers for their hospitality. We talked through the evening about the layout of the House of Commons and how and what we would do on the following day.

I slept on a bench in the Meeting for Worship room – a bad choice – the floor would have been much better. The following morning we took our luggage to the office of War Resisters’ International (WRI), near King’s Cross station, who were kind enough to let us stay on Monday night, after the action. WRI is a global organisation that supports conscientious objectors to military service.

We arrived at the House of Commons in the afternoon and made our way, separately, through two security points. We perused the exhibitions in the Great Hall and reached the lobby, an imposing chamber of decaying splendours. The lobby lies between the House of Commons, the House of Lords and the voting lobby. We checked that we were all present and made our way to the centre of the room.

We took off our outer garments, revealing our messages of protest, and joined hands seasoned with superglue. We sang peace songs for six-and-a-quarter hours, from the start to the end of the debate and voting. The sergeant of arms made sure that the police on duty brought us bottles of water – but we were cautious in its consumption, for obvious reasons. Sometime during the evening Black Rod, nattily dressed and ‘plummily’ vowelled, asked us how long we intended to keep singing. He said: ‘What would happen if everyone did this kind of protest? – it would be anarchy.’ He was concerned about ruining the tourists’ special day.

We were not arrested. This may have been to avoid publicity, but I have since wondered if the rather comprehensive security breach needed to be kept quiet. We left the Commons at about 10.30pm, with friendly goodbyes to the police, who assured us that they had learnt all our peace songs. I slept on the WRI office floor, fully dressed, on my sleeping bag, with the office computers that never sleep humming and clicking and cooking up the heat.

Following my phone call to my son, someone asked me what my family thinks of this sort of action. I expect they may find it rather foolish. It does look rather foolish. However, the mute acceptance of Trident renewal, now to cost over £200 billion, seems rather more foolish.

I shall be seventy years of age next year and am clerk of Northumbria Area Meeting. I mention this to reassure people that age and responsibility do not preclude challenging the state and looking foolish.

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