To end all wars

We met at the memorial to the dead of the 'great' war. I don't know if that was conscious or unconscious wisdom. Someone played The Internationale, haltingly, on a red trombone. We walked quietly and calmly: old men with hats, fat blokes with bikes, women with babies in pushchairs, loose-limbed students, children slipping between our legs. Some people chanted, just to be heard, pleading for freedom, decrying state oppression. I did not see or hear anyone mention race or creed

It's a small relief to have done something

There were a lot of us, more than expected. I'm glad I wasn't expected. We were to keep together and not walk ahead of the stewards. We were to look out for one another

I walked beside a small brown child in a pram. He looked a little gaunt; I wondered if he is one of the 30% of British children living in poverty. He looked at me with too-large, too-dark eyes, mystified. He wasn't crying, but I was