Ah, That Codnor Moment

Just got back from a day’s worth of protesting, marching and shouting around the Derbyshire village of Codnor. I’m not quite ready rubbed but i do have a sore knee. (if none of this makes sense then blame 70s tobacco advertising)

We had nothing against sleepy rural Codnor, but we did against the bunch of neo-fascists assembled at a nearby farm under the banner of the BNP’s Red White and Blue Festival, or Dread, Hate and Poo Farce-ival as I shall call it. As far as I’m concerned the BNP are a disgrace to our nation and their waving of the flag disgraces our recent history of fighting fascism.

Vicky in her best game face and me staring middle distance being watched by a surveillance drone

So at 10am we gathered in Codnor market square, for a pre march rally organised by Unite Against Fascism. I was there with my best friend Victoria and we had managed to find our destination with less than 3 rows about direction, mainly due to my arrogant mistrust of her Satnav. We were dressed in our best protesting gear, which for me consisted in a gypsy top that for some reason was inside out and for Vicky was a bright fluorescent kagool which was constantly mistook for a stewards tabard. We had our placards and tucked in our handbags were our bust sheets, with info if we were arrested, and we were all set.

Before the march was the rally and as we munched on vegan pasties welistened to increasingly rabble rousing sweary speeches. The best reception was reserved for a lady who was a veteran from the Battle of Cable Street in 1936 when the east enders turned back Oswald Mosely’s blackshirts with the cry of “No Passan” (They shall not pass, from the Spanish Civil War).

11.30am and we gathered in formation behind the “thin fluorescent line” that was our police escort. The police were out in impressive numbers, and from the air kept their eyes on us with a drone remote helicopter thingy. So many of the police had cameras of varying size they start to resemble some bizarrely regimented photography club.

As made our way out of Codnor, down valley and up the other side, passing though a normally subdued semi suburban area. The locals, lined their properties watching with fascination. As we marched we chanted we sang and we shouted our way through some of the classics such as“Black and white we are united…Smash the BNP”, “Nazi scum, off our streets….Smash the BNP” and that old family favourite “The workers united, will never be defeated”. Its all very rousing but not very tuneful, and my attempts to start a version of “Do you hear the people sing” from Les Miserables, fell of mainly bemused ears. The highlight of my march was meeting up with my twitter buddy, Laurel or @debaucherydean for you aficionados who had trekked all the way from Hastings.

 

It may be an uphill struggle but its worth it

The plan was for us to try and surround Griffin and his cronies, which included some of the nastiest pieces of work from Europe's far Right parties, although I understand that some splinter demos had managed to turn back some of the speakers to the event. The best laid plans of mice and marchers etc. We were only allowed to march to the lane next to those animals on their farm. So we stood there, stood our ground and chanted as loud as our throats allowed, determined to make our presence felt to the evil behind the hedgerow.

2pm After an hour or so, with only a few minor scuffles between the foolhardy and the police horses, it was time for some of us to turn back. However it seemed a few thuggish bullies had decided to gather down the lane and the police kept us back, worried that if people became separated from the march they may be vulnerable.  So for a while we were hemmed in so some tired legs turned standing ground to sitting our ground. When it was felt safe we were allowed to march back to the village. When I say march , shuffle would be more accurate as we were going so so slowly as not to split into groups. Its actually quite difficult to walk really slow so I amused myself by imitating the 6 million dollar man’s slow motion run. The few thugs and thugesses that we saw at the at the roadside were fairly quiet, but apparently behind us some more gathered throwing Nazi salutes. How utterly stupid and more utterly unimaginative, I thought. The old Nazi movement is really in need of a makeover and perhaps a new salute. I suggest a half raised arm with clenched fist moving through to a sharp punch to the face.

Our written instructions (click if you want to read) with our highlighted protest point. A few scuffles did not divert this Mountie’s stoical gaze

   

The police dealt with some fascist sympathisers as their ‘copter looked on

As we walked Vicky and I chatted with the police, who to a man, and woman were sweltering in layers of uniform and stab vests. One young copper looked at the hill ahead back to the village saying “Have we really got to go back up that”. It was heartening that a young fit copper was more moany about being tired than me. We got back with not much more ado, and after a couple of bars of “Smash the BNP” we dispersed into our cars minibusses and coaches and set off to whichever corner of Britain whence we came.

We may not have stopped their festival of hatred, but we made our presence felt and we will be back next year and every year until this bunch of preposterous, deluded, nasty nutters finally realise that racism and bigotry has no place in this or any future century.

The Battle Of Cable Street