High railings were to be the object of our attack. Musgrave had climbed onto a table outside the Antelope that morning and told us the plan. If there were any arrests to be made, he said, they would have to arrest him first – and that they would not dare. We all laughed. He stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat and smiled from table to table.

On the marsh meadow behind the pub the fire brigade was holding its Bank Holiday fête, so there were hundreds of people watching us curiously. It was a stroke of genius to hold our meeting on Lammas and in full view of the fête entrance. The hundreds of revellers could not help seeing Musgrave on the table, clearly the ringleader, telling us the plan.

The brewers’ horses and carts drew up, and the brewery men listened as they unloaded their barrels.

What if those fire engines though, said someone, what if they are in the pay, in the pay of the waterworks company? They have an endless supply of water. What if they are here not to have a fête but to turn their hoses on us? What if the fête is a cover for their real purpose? What then?

Musgrave said that he did not think that that was likely. But if they try to disperse us with a hose when we are but peacefully asserting our rights, then our lawyers will take up the case and make representations to the Crown. It will be a foolish fireman who tries to assault a Chartered Accountant and a Justice of the Peace.

And we all cheered again and hammered on the benches. Three cheers for Christopher Musgrave, I shouted, enunciating the name as clearly as I could.

Musgrave! Musgrave! came the chorus.

Now Musgrave made sure he was the first to lay his hands on the railings, in front of a crowd of witnesses including two JPs and our solicitor. With his hands holding the palings he addressed the crowd. We have given them notice to remove their property from our land, he said, and that they have failed to do. Therefore, we do it for them. With that, he pulled at the railings, to the accompaniment of loud cheers. The crowd surged forward and the fence came down. We went across the marshes to take up the track.

I took hold of a fire-iron and tried to prise away part of the railway. The hardest physical work I’d done was to dig potatoes in my own garden, and this became swiftly apparent to all who observed me. I wiped the sweat from my brow with my shirt. A few others joined my section of the track, and we managed to damage it sufficiently as to render it unusable, bashing it with shovels to warp the metal. It was satisfying work.