Glasgow, 15th February, 10am (or thereabouts)

The driver pulled the coach pulled into a lay-by then proceeded to hold up traffic by crossing the busy road. Behind him and the 8 other coaches travelling in the convoy followed suit. Traffic was being redirected because of some march or other… ahh, yes, perhaps the one that we were going to.

The 9 coaches had began their journey from places in around Carlisle. In the Cumbrian car-park, where the coaches had met up to begin their journey north and where we had got out to have our pictures taken, we were told that the organisers had begun planning for the event by anticipating the need for a minibus. In the end extra coaches had had to be laid on at the last minute as the demand to go to the demonstration had grown beyond expectation and belief.

On Glasgow Green the sun shone but the ground remained frozen. People rubbed their hands and stamped there feet trying to keep warm as they waited to move forwards. We stood for a long time stamping our feet. We were still stood there over an hour and a half after the march started. It took me a while to work out why it was taking so long before we moved forward until I saw the queues of people from all directions feeding into the main procession.

Families stood next to groups of teenagers, people with pink hair stood next to those with grey hair, soldiers in uniform with medals pinned to their chest, stood next to civilians with CND badges pinned to their chest. Some people talked of the last protest they had been on whilst others said this was the first time they had ever been to anything like this. It would be hard to imagine this group of people in any other context.

Then we walked. Happy and excited through the streets of Glasgow, singing as we went. There is something about being part of a singing crowd that makes me feel like crying. Being part of a crowd that is singing about peace and who truly seem to believe in what they were singing, is something I could never begin to describe. People hung out of windows along the street lending support to the demonstration. Speakers blared out Bob Marley from window, while out of another people were playing drums.

That's when I started to get the text messages: My mum and dad in Dublin; Dimitra in Thesalonki; friends in London. All over the world other people were also walking down the normally busy streets demanding peace.

As I stood at the appropriately nicknamed armadillo (or the SECC) from where Tony Blair had already given his speech to the Labour party conference and had long since gone, I felt hopeful. I was a small part of a worldwide demonstration for peace. So many people from so many different backgrounds were united. Maybe things could change, maybe there were enough people who cared sufficiently to make it change.

Rachel Queen