"Yes, Headmistress" (part 11)

(Previous posts from this series):

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

Part 11

We were thousands of miles from home, and weren't exactly sure when we would get back. 

But were we friendless? No...not really; not yet. The base was 25 miles distant, but one could get there in a pinch. And on it were thousands of other Americans, queuing up for all the American goodies at the Commissary. I loved that place. There were mountains of Hershey Bars, bottles of Ketsup (a rare item in the UK), barbecue briquets and Miracle Whip - in fact, everything to make an American feel right at home. You could remain on the base and not even recognize the foreign country surrounding you.

But we did not want to remain on a base and not recognize England. England was our dream come true and we wanted it all. 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsontour/2634592556/

Friends? We grownups had tons of friends, because we had The Squadron. Remember John Grisham's book The Firm? Well, it was like that only positive. The men who flew the RF-4s were an automatic band of brothers. The wives of the men who flew the RF-4s were their own loyal band, and stood ready with kindly aid and comfort. They offered good advice ("Remember to look right when turning out of the base. Otherwise? SMASH."). They educated the newer wives about the oddities surrounding the base ("Do you see those white tents just outside the main gate? Well, they are filled with protesters who have been out there for years, shouting at us. It's a dirt pit.."). Hmm. This was going to be interesting.

One day as I drove onto the base I took a good look at this 'dirt pit'. Protesters were indeed crammed into clusters of white tents. Many stood outside in the rain holding signs. They shouted at me with horrible mean looks on their faces, and they had (are you ready for it?) GIANT SAFETY PINS THREADED ONTO THEIR ARMS AND TORSOS. Good grief. 

We were shocked to hear one day that a baby was being born inside one of the tents, during a rain storm. Talk about drama. There was mud everywhere (did I ever say England was dry?), and a television truck and crew showed up to record the event. It tried to park near the tent but the protesters protested, and forced it back. It was all a frightful mess of mud and confused screaming. Still, the cameraman must have snuck back because we saw his report on the news that night: 

"... and the baby's mother refused to go to a hospital or to leave the protest site. Multiple protesters accosted the news crew and used profanity and a fair amount of shoving, while the mother screamed. From the base there was concern for the infant, and the National Health became involved. A doctor arrived just before the birth..."

https://www.flickr.com/photos/ghalog/6320990854/

I don't remember what happened to the baby, but the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament remained outside the Air base for years. I am not even joking about the safety pins, which were woven in and out of their skin in a strange and shocking manner. Maybe the most extraordinary part is that one of the safety-pin-wearing-protesters eventually became the Archbishop of Canterbury. (I am not even joking).

It's sort of hard to make a connection between protesting Nukes and threading a giant safety pin into one's arm skin. Can somebody please help me out here?


See you along the way!
the SconeLady

photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsontour/2634592556/">reds on tour</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>

photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ghalog/6320990854/">glennshootspeople</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">cc</a>