Robbie spoke loudly. ‘The All Black forwards are better than theirs, eh? But we’ll have to watch those Springbok backs.’

What was he—? Then I understood, and replied ‘Yeah. We gotta keep the game tight, eh?’ The rugby guys walked off. Robbie and I both went ‘Whew!’ and laughed — quietly.

‘Better not lose the others,’ I said, and we moved back towards where the rest of our group stood. Grandad Matiu smiled at us. ‘Thought you’d gone sightseeing.’

Time passed. More rugby fans filtered through the line of white coats up ahead. Couldn’t be long until the game started now. I wouldn’t mind a cup of Nana Florence’s tea. I yawned. A small plane droned overhead, began a slow circle. TV or something? Yeah, just as well I’d worn my good jeans.

More time dragged by. Then my head jerked up as a different sound grew at the end of the street we’d come down. Tramping feet. More police? A whole team of rugby fans? Then I saw the signs and motorbike helmets swing around the corner, and heard the chanting.

They marched with arms linked, eight or ten abreast. Would we be doing that, too, in the main march? Some wore balaclavas, covering their faces except for eyeholes. One sign read PATU; others STOP THE TOUR and FREEDOM FOR ALL RACES … Their ranks tramped by, a hundred of them maybe, heading towards the skips and barbed wire. They looked fierce and determined, and for a few seconds, I wished I was one of them. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

More feet were approaching, but not tramping like the Patu Squad. Signs, but no helmets. Men and women, dark heads, fair heads, grey heads, even a few bald heads. A contingent of nuns, and even a priest carrying a large crucifix. The main march. My heart began to beat faster.

Dad raised his voice. ‘This is us, people. Stay safe, remember. If we get separated, meet back at the car.’

Some people on the footpath were clapping. A few called ‘Useless!’ ‘Get a proper job!’ ‘Grow up!’ The last lines of marchers had almost reached us. An old guy with a walking stick hobbled along. Two girls about my age — grandchildren? — were with him, chanting ‘Freedom! Stop the tour! Freedom!’ A huge excitement rose up inside me. I’d remember today for the rest of my life. We stepped off the footpath, and joined the other protestors.

Nana Florence and Mum held hands. Finola and Nana Whina were doing the same. Dad, Uncle Tipene and Grandad Matiu squared their shoulders. Uncle Mac put an arm around Robbie for a second, and I knew he was proud of his son. My own parents were going to feel proud of me.