But she was flushed with excitement. ‘Those bastards can’t keep us back!’ she cried.

A man next to her shouted: ‘Right! Damn right!’

The crowd was still ten yards or more from the gate but, just the same, the guards unnecessarily began to push demonstrators away. Woody took a photograph.

Brian Hall had been yelling into his bullhorn about boss thugs and pointing an accusing finger at the factory police. Now he changed his tune and began to call for calm. ‘Move away from the gates, please, brothers,’ he said. ‘Move back, no rough stuff.’

Woody saw a woman pushed by a guard hard enough to make her stumble. She did not fall over, but she cried out, and the man with her said to the guard: ‘Hey, buddy, take it easy, will you?’

‘Are you trying to start something?’ the guard said challengingly.

The woman yelled: ‘Just stop shoving!’

‘Move back, move back!’ the guard shouted. He raised his nightstick. The woman screamed.

As the nightstick came down, Woody took a picture.

Joanne said: ‘The son of a bitch hit that woman!’ She stepped forward.

But most of the crowd began to move in the opposite direction, away from the factory. As they turned, the guards came after them, shoving, kicking, and lashing out with their truncheons.

Brian Hall said: ‘There is no need for violence! Factory police, step back! Do not use your clubs!’ Then his bullhorn was knocked out of his hands by a guard.

Some of the younger men fought back. Half a dozen real policemen moved into the crowd. They did nothing to restrain the factory police, but began to arrest anyone fighting back.

The guard who had started the fracas fell to the ground, and two demonstrators started kicking him.

Woody took a picture.

Joanne was screaming with fury. She threw herself at a guard and scratched his face. He put out a hand to shove her away. Accidentally or otherwise, the heel of his hand connected sharply with her nose. She fell back with blood coming from her nostrils. The guard raised his nightstick. Woody grabbed her by the waist and jerked her back. The stick missed her. ‘Come on!’ Woody yelled at her. ‘We have to get out of here!’

The blow to her face had deflated her fury, and she offered no resistance as he half pulled, half carried her away from the gates as fast as he could, his camera swinging on the strap around his neck. The crowd was panicking now, people falling over and others trampling them as everyone tried to flee.

Woody was taller than most and he managed to keep himself and Joanne upright. They fought their way through the crush, staying just ahead of the nightsticks. At last the crowd thinned out. Joanne detached herself from his grasp and they both began to run.

The noise of the fight receded behind them. They turned a couple of corners and, a minute later, found themselves on a deserted street of factories and warehouses, all closed on Sunday. They slowed to a walk, catching their breath. Joanne began to laugh. ‘That was so exciting!’ she said.