'
Ho, Ho, Ho Chi Minh. Ho, Ho, Ho Chi Minh.'
"Yes, of course I was there. St Patrick's Day, 17 March 1968. The anti-Vietnam war demonstration in Trafalgar Square. It was good-humoured and peaceful. Then a few fiery speeches from Tariq Ali and Vanessa Redgrave rekindled our hatred for the American war machine and its leader, President Lyndon Baines Johnson.
'L, L, LBJ, and how many kids did you kill today?'
And, yes, I joined 15,000 others as we marched to the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. The smiling police officers began to look nervous. They cordoned off the embassy, shoulder to shoulder. Mounted police helped swell their ranks.
We refused to retreat. The horses charged at us. Over 100 protesters were injured. Tensions rose, ugly scenes followed. Harold Wilson had betrayed us peace-loving lefties. If it was not for the Vietnam War, I might never have become a hippy, a dope dealer, a prisoner. If it was not for prison, I might never have written."
Actually, the last paragraph isn't quite true. I've never been to prison, except as a visitor. But I wasn't given a visa to go to the U.S.A. for 5 years because my photo had been taken from the rooftop of the embassy in Grosvenor Square during the year-long Vietnam Vigil.
And these events did fuel a wanderlust which led to several encounters with Mr. Nice, aka Howard Marks, at his
finca in Ibiza.
And life has led me to reading about his further
exploits in Vietnam while I too am in S.E. Asia.
And writing. Ah, the power of the Net.
Blogger power to the people
And the problems with my computer. A reformat of my C drive now follows. Hopefully, I'll be back soon.
Ho, Ho, Hum.
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