An account of the hunger protest at RAF Valley
22-25 August 2006
Red in the morning shepherd’s warning is what one says to a start our trio had on Tuesday morning in Menai Bridge. Walking down the road to Ramsey’s car by the straits, we had a fine greeting spectacle of the eastern sky that raised hopes and dispersed worries of the hour to come. Following the sloping A55 to Llangefni, we saw a wondrous play of wispy mist tangling amidst the hedgerows and trees and mixing with the marshy vapours coming off the Maltraeth fault line wetland of reeds and grasses.
Passing the red plane on its pedestal by the main gates of RAF Valley one may notice signs that elude to property and secrecy, entrance appears not advisable unless invited. The liaison police officer for Valley told us; “the guards patrolling the base and watching the gate want you to know that they are armed”. Encouragement or warning? Weapons the unarmed peaceniks of our little stint had no difficulty shushing, if only we had the guts to put flowers in their barrels. Could have pulled off such an act? The guards were quite tolerant, but they were noticeably weary and committed to maintain strict MoD protocol of defence and carrying out the task set out for them by the tradition of suspicion and deception. If not on business, entreating entrance would lead on nowhere and so would mockery of their vigilance and warrior mind set.
Flowers in their extensions of might could perhaps have turned the tables away from our favour to that of the nick and DNA swab. Calm as they treated us throughout the four days, barely a provocation would have been needed to roll us of their ground.
Consider the issue we posed to base security, sleeping with pots of hardy paint a hundred meters from the runway and a short stone lob from the hawks’ nest.
Whilst we were unloading Ramsey’s car by the red plane at about 6.30 am, a guard in fatigues came to shoo us away. A cordial manner he assumed, but made sure we did what he said immediately. He would have taken contrary behaviour on our behalf as an indication of trouble and rewarded us quite likely with expulsion from the area, stint stunted.
We accepted to be peaceful, listened to him and moved on to the place allocated to us by the station commander for setting up camp. Valley had been waiting for us since midnight. Somehow they had caught wind of our smell and organised our lodging and tolerance with the police before our arrival.
Appeasing the station’s military prowess, from hence on we remained on our allocated spot and did not interfere with their activities. This rewarded us with the assurance that we could stay on the overgrown gravel patch, usually the warplane spotters’ car park. Humbly we unpacked our banners of Food not Bombs and taxes for welfare not war (later to be added with no more lies and the duck of peace), sat down to water and leant our backs against the raised road verge bordering our camp.
Chris, Gareth and the toddler Dylan Marley visited us in the afternoon, the latter was unsure whether the war machinery was more groovy or the colourful peace flags.
 
In the evening I picked up my car and drove it onto our camp, for the police liaison officer reported we had received permission to leave a car and tents overnight on the spotters parking.
Because various representatives from the local media visited, the day had gone by quickly. Sleeping with three in John’s narrow tent, through a night of much moisture, the next day arrived with more time free for fretting over food.
Had Holly not come to visit and lend us a tent and Mair bring some company our rumbling stomachs shrinking rowdily may have outdone the hawks’ noise harassing us into despair.
Thursday brought two army helicopters to entertain the plebs on the plane spotters parking. I have my doubts as to whether they came as part of a training course or to counter our peace presence. Such a noise, so much wind, they are maddening. They left eventually not to come back, the potty plane plebs remained throughout.
Linda, Phil and their kid brought newspapers and water. Oh the lovely water.
A friendly policeman in an unmarked car checked on us in the evening. Round midnight some youths wanting to stir us op were ushered away by John in his leather jacket claiming “I’m not a hippy, I was a trained pilot”.
Still keeping an eye out for our well-being, two police men came round Friday morning and ascertaining we were alright left us to our fast. Yvonne came with newspapers round what would have been lunch. More could be written, but little was done.
By six pm we drove off with a horn blowing wildly for a few minutes. The base was by that time still and tranquil, breathing an air without kerosene at last. Bank holiday weekend and so no military or plane spotters about, we lifted our hunger protest early having done perhaps a little of what we set out to do.
Nature is doing a better job at sorting us homo sapiens out in Her slow yet interminable way. Lets care for Her and She might yet spare a film of our species.
Jonathan Baines
North Wales Chronicle Piece
Featured on BBC Wales Today on 22nd August
Page 2 Article in the Daily Post.
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