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1968: Birth of my Rebellion

How long can I stand in the burn until my feet go numb? Too long. Better to keep throwing stones into the deep bit. Maybe I'll wake up a fish. I wonder where all this water comes from? Up that hill I suppose.

I can hear Daddy shouting my name. What does he want? It's probably breakfast time. But they can wait. They know I spend all day out here by the burn, exploring, filling up and emptying my aluminium coffee pot. There's so much to do; so many rocks to examine, so much sand to filter through my fingers, so much brown water that I can make clear by pouring through my pot.

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He said we should support the miners, stand with them at the gates.

Off we went, early doors, down to our local coal fired power station.

The first few weeks, it turned out, were quite civil.

The Police Officers were rotated away, and a load from elsewhere rotated in to manage us.

After a few days they would stop our car (full) and turn us back at the roundabout a couple of miles from the picket.

He would chat with the officers, asking for chapter and verse of whatever powers they were using to turn us away.

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