What’s in a name?

It was the mid-80s, a  bright chilly spring-time Sunday – big knitted sweaters, scarves, muddy boots and no coats weather.  Saran,  Gareth and me were hitching from Norwich to RAF Lakenheath to join the protest against Trident. He decided to go ahead on his own so that us two girls had a better chance of getting a lift without him. Then we could persuade whoever gave us a lift, to pick him up when we reached him.

So we set off about 15 minutes after he left. Thumbs and smiles out. A small car drew up, seemed to slow down a little, we looked in expectantly at the older-looking couple inside, but they just drove on.  More cars came and went have a peek at this web-site. Minutes past. No one stopped. Then there was Gareth calling us from the other side of the road in that little car with the older couple . We ran across the road and hopped in.

So it turned out that when they picked him up, they explained how they’d thought of giving a couple of girls further back a  lift, but when they got a better look at us they saw we were a bit Wild and Woolly looking so thought better of it. Gareth persuaded them to turn around and to let us all squeeze in, regardless of our wild and woolliness.

That was nearly 30 years ago. In spite of their prejudices I reckon that couple pretty much got the measure of us then and they’d probably say the same today. And I guess if the woolly hat fits…

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