On the third of September 1975, Phil Russell, alias Phil Hope, alias Wally Hope, alias Wally, choked to death on his own vomit. Blackberry, custard, bile, lodged finally and tragically in the windpipe. Blackberry, custard, bile, running from his gaping mouth onto the delicate patterns of the ornamental carpet.

'No answer is in itself an answer.'

— Oriental proverb

Wally died a frightened, weak and tired man. Six months earlier he had been determined, happy and exceptionally healthy. It had taken only that short time for Her Majesty's Government's Health Department to reduce Wally Hope to a hopeless, puke-covered corpse.

'The first dream that I remember is of myself holding the hand of an older man, looking over a beautiful and peaceful valley. Suddenly a fox broke cover followed by hounds and strong horses ridden by red-coated huntsmen. The man pointed into the valley and said, 'that, my son, is where you're heading.' I soon found that out. I am the fox!'

— Wally Hope, 1974

For me, Wally's death marked the end of an era. He died alongside the last grain of trust that I naively had had in the System: the last seeds of hope. Prior to that, I had felt that if I lived a life based on respect rather than abuse my example might be followed by those in authority. Of course it was a dream, but reality is based on a thousand dreams of the past. Was it so silly that I should want to add mine to the future?

'It became necessary to destroy the town to save it.'

— Twentieth century military logic

World War Two was neither lost nor won, it simply created a horrific emptiness. Within that emptiness there grew a desperation amongst the peoples of the world, a fear that civilisation had learnt nothing from the tragic lessons of the Nazi death-camps or the cruel truths of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It seemed that those in power were setting the planet on a course towards total destruction. The arms race was full-swing. The Cold War was running amuck. The Third World was starving, but the superpowers looked only to themselves.

In the horror of this new world, people turned to bizarre ways of calming their fears. To ignore is the greatest ignorance, but ignore became the keyword as individuals buried themselves in the banalities of mindless materialism. The Age of Consumerism had been born. If you couldn't find peace of mind, perhaps a Cadillac would do. If life had lost its meaning, perhaps a super-deluxe washing machine might give it back. The 'this is mine, mine, mine' ownership and security boom was underway. Buy, buy, buy. Possess. Insure. Protect. The TV world was upon us. Which one's real? This one? That one? Mind-numbing crap to numb crappy minds. Buy this, buy that. Who knows which is which or what is what? Who cares? Buy this. Buy that. Layers of disposable, plastic-wrapped garbage to hide the awful facts of life in a nuclear reality.

BUY THIS.

BUY THAT.

Meanwhile, governments turned to the business of developing nuclear arsenals, nuclear 'deterrents' we were told, and the vast majority of the population, blinded by consumer gewgaws and media junk, was happy to accept the lie. As long as everyone was having fun, no one would question the behaviour of those in power as they played with their nuclear time-bombs. But all the time the fuse burnt shorter.

However, if the majority is always happy to be blown along by the prevailing wind, there are also those who will stand against it. If the fifties saw the birth of consumerism, it also gave rise to two powerful oppositional forces: the Peace Movement and rock'n'roll. Both were in reaction to a world increasingly dominated by the grey men of war and their grey thoughts. Both, at least initially, rejected the empty glitter of consumerism. Both represented a revolution against the abnormal values of 'normal' society.

The Peace Movement in Britain was founded on the platform of the newly formed Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, CND, who by the end of the fifties was able to call thousands of protesters onto the streets to make their voice heard. But a louder voice still could be listened to at that time on the portable-radios and wind-up gramophones of millions of homes: the harsh new voice of rock'n'roll.

Whereas the Peace Movement was predominantly middle-class, rock'n'roll knew no class barriers, and although it probably took The Beatles to finally bring together the various disillusioned parties, rock'n'roll, revolution, a desire for change and the Peace Movement have from the very start been as good as inseparable.

* * *

Regrettably, by the beginning of the sixties, CND had become an accepted and therefore contained part of the British way of life. Its shout of protest had been dulled by the voice of moderation. The aims of CND had become increasingly obscured by political opportunism. Leftist vultures heavily disguised as doves had moved in and it became clear that the Labour Party saw CND as little more than a rung in the ladder to power. In 1964, as the opposition party, they promised to do away with Polaris, the nuclear submarine force. A few months later, after election to power, they ordered four new submarines. The disguise wore thin. Michael Foot, at that time a CND committee member (but now leader of the Labour Party), when asked if he would vote for an anti-bomb Tory Party rather than a pro-bomb Socialist one, replied 'certainly not'. It acted as a bewildering testament to his desire for peace.

The present rebirth of interest in CND runs the risk of once again going up the well-worn political arsehole. Socialist power-seekers have already moved in on the hard-fought-for peace platform. Speeches at the two most recent Trafalgar Square rallies were directed more towards vote catching than peace making. When the issues weren't so fashionable, the leftist 'doves' were happy enough to be sharing peanuts with the rest of the pigeons in the square. Now they are promising to refuse to allow America to install cruise missiles in Britain. Is this just another vote catcher that they will back off from if they are elected into power? If it is allowed to do so, the Labour Party will sail CND right down the river and sink it without trace.

Nuclear disarmament and the wider issues of peace must not be allowed to become political soap-operas in which the power-hungry can play out their cynicism. Further to this, and quite apart from the obvious threat of political exploitation, a very real danger to the long-term existence of CND and its allies is the current interest being shown in it by the music business. All of a sudden, peace has become a saleable commodity, a trendy product, and established record labels, the music press and bands alike, who four years ago dismissed those who opposed war as 'boring old hippies', are now bending over backwards to be seen to be supporting the cause. The only cause that they're supporting is their own. It's good promotion, good sales, good business, and they'll bleed it dry as long as it's this year's thing. When it isn't, they'll drop it, as they did Rock Against Racism, like a ton of hot bricks.

* * *

If by the mid-sixties the power of protest had dwindled, the power of rock was showing no such faint heart. Rock'n'roll ruled, and no party conference was going to bring it down. Youth had found its voice and increasingly was demanding that it should be heard. Loud within that voice...