The group arrived at the machines and the men slipped off their backpacks, pulled out bundles of fabric and unfolded them. Two men climbed the machines, then the women passed the fabric up, helping to drape it from the mechanical arm—two large bedsheets with messages painted in black capital letters: Machines Cost Jobs. Save the Eagles, Save the Forests. The man with the camera started recording while the young woman produced a loudhailer and began shouting through it. ‘Can I have your attention, everyone? All eyes this way, please.’

Leon glanced across the field and saw people in the crowd turning to look.

‘I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees.’ The girl’s voice was shrill and metallic. ‘It’s time to stop raping our forests. We have the best forests in the world, and they belong to the taxpayers of this country, not the timber industry. The forests are our lungs. They give us oxygen, and they lock up carbon. It doesn’t make sense to cut them down. Loggers aren’t making money from trees—they’re subsidised by our taxes. We’re paying them to destroy our heritage. It has to be stopped.’

‘Who are these people?’ Grandpa said. ‘They don’t look like greenies.’

‘They are, Grandpa,’ Leon said. ‘Used to be dreadlocks and ratbags. Now they’re office workers and grannies. Mums and dads.’

The older woman produced a small drum that she began to beat while the young woman continued to shout into the loudhailer. ‘These machines are the enemy. They’re eating their way through our forests and nobody knows the damage they’re doing. There are no jobs anymore. We have to ban them.’

‘She’s right, you know,’ Grandpa said. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but she’s right.’

Leon tried to persuade the old man to leave. ‘Come on, Grandpa. There’s going to be trouble.’ But Grandpa was far too excited.

Now burly men in fluoro vests were running across the field; Leon recognised Mooney among them.

‘What’s happening in our forests is a crime,’ the young woman yelled. ‘It’s time for the loggers to get out. These machines cut the forest so fast the trees have no time to regrow. Enough is enough.’

‘Fuck off,’ someone yelled, and the entire crowd began to swarm towards them, shouting: ‘Get rid of them.’ ‘Why are they here?’ ‘Who let them in?’ ‘This is our festival.’ ‘Fucking greenies.’

Mooney arrived at the machines first and tried to pull down the banners, but the men tugged them out of reach. ‘Take that sign down,’ Mooney shouted. ‘Take it down now or I’ll—’

‘You’ll what?’ sniped the cameraman. ‘Beat us up like the thugs that you are?’

‘Get down and get the fuck out of here,’ Mooney snarled. ‘You’re not welcome.’

‘This is a family day,’ the cameraman said, waving a brochure at him. ‘It says: All welcome.’