Sitting on the Pier at Ardnadam

My adventure took place back in 1961. It was the height of the Cold War, when the Soviet Union controlled all of Eastern Europe and glared at the West over the iron curtain. We hourly expected an exchange of nuclear missiles that would destroy mankind.

I was a student in Glasgow at the time. My friends and I were aghast when the Macmillan government down in London gave the USA permission to build a nuclear submarine base at the Holy Loch, near Dunoon. Didn"t they realise that it made the whole of central Scotland a prime target?

We heard that the CND were planning a protest march from Dunoon to the base at Ardnadam. We would have loved to join it, but students were really poor in those days. We could not afford the train fare down to Gourock and the ferry fare over to Cowal. Then we heard that the CND were laying on a special train from Glasgow and had chartered the “Waverly” for the ferry crossing. Yes!!

The train was jam-packed and we crammed into a compartment beside some shipyard workers from Govan. Sure enough, when we arrived in Gourock, the “Waverly” was waiting for us at the pier. There was little wind and the sun came out for the crossing so everyone was in a holiday mood.

When we reached Dunoon, we discovered that our Glasgow contingent was only one of many. Fleets of coaches had brought demonstrators over the Rest and be Thankful from all parts of the UK. Many carried banners saying “Ban the Bomb” or “Yanks go home”.

The organisers marshalled us into a neat procession on Dunoon promenade and each cohort was headed by a piper or brass band. Michael Foot made a fiery speech against the base but emphasised the peaceful nature of our protest; there was to be no violence and no resistance to the police.

In fact, we were astonished at the size of the police presence. What did they think we were going to do? Run amok or fight with the natives? The local people watched us in wary silence. Even if they weren"t keen on nuclear weapons, the Americans had brought prosperity to their backwater.

It was a longer walk to Ardnadam than we had anticipated - about six miles - though Hunter"s Quay and Kirn, but the musicians kept our spirits up and it was a pretty route, hugging the seashore. Waves slapped against the sea wall and the wild flowers were a delight to us city dwellers. The attractive villas along the seafront were worlds away from our own grim, tenement homes.

When we reached Ardnadam, the police corralled us behind barricades where we promptly sat down. The depot ship, Proteous, was in plain view and beyond it was the sinister, black silhouette of the USS Patrick Henry.

A waterborne protest before us. A flotilla of canoes paddled up and demonstrators tried to board the American vessels. To our horror, they were washed off into the sea with power hoses, but police launches arrived to pick them up.

Some hotheads came out from behind the barriers to confront American sailors coming down the pier, but the British police reacted swiftly and carted them off to waiting vans.

The hours passed slowly and the ground grew harder. We sang protest songs like, "Ban the Bomb", "Sitting on the pier at Ardnadam" and "Ye Canny spend a Dollar When Yir Deid". Those who had brought food ate it and shared it with neighbours in a comradely fashion.

In the late afternoon, the march re-formed and we trudged back to Dunoon, footsore now. The Waverly was waiting for us. During the crossing, a petition was circulated and a collection taken up to pay the fines of those who had been arrested

We went home tired, hoarse from all the singing but glad we had done something to show our anger at the positioning of the base.