Maya Evans' diary

Last month was the 50th anniversary of the historic march from Trafalgar Square to the Aldermaston nuclear weapons factory. It felt important to follow the tradition of previous peacemakers to Stop the Bomb.
Spots of rain fell on the windscreen of our support car as we circled the bomb factory at around 10am on Easter Monday. There was a chill in the air.
We’d been up since 4am, preparing for the walk and then making our way to the Atomic Weapons Establishment (AWE). I’d had three hours’ sleep.
The industrial proportions of the buildings in AWE Aldermaston were intimidating, but not as intimidating as the thought of what was swirling around the giant pipes.
For me, it was a last-minute snap decision. Mil and I had had a brief conversation just three days earlier while walking down the Strand.
Folk were pinning flowers, flags and banners on the fence around Aldermaston as we ambled round the circumference. Well-wishers gave us the thumbs up when they read the A1 chest signs: “Walking from Aldermaston to London”.
I felt pleased and energised that we had made the effort to uphold the tradition of the walk. We were on the first leg of the walk, Aldermaston to Reading, which is roughly 10 miles. It wasn’t long before I stopped removing layers and started desperately putting on waterproofs.
Hail turned into sleet which turned into sheets of rain. It was early into the walk and already we were battling the elements.
The sun broke out into clear blue skies and double rainbows as we reached the outskirts of Reading. We entered the same café in the centre of Reading we had visited at 9am and ordered the same thing we’d ordered then: “Two chips and beans, please”.
We phoned our support car to arrange a meet up: “What, you’re still waiting for the AA emergency breakdown service?”
We had been singing the same song for half an hour, when suddenly our support car rolled up and screeched to a halt. Our Iraqi friend Salih, a doctor, jumped out: “I can’t turn the engine off or else it won’t start again”. We grabbed a few things and he sped off promising: “I will return in a normal car”.
It was 11pm. Dr Salih urged us: “This is madness, it’s freezing!”
After soup and four hours’ sleep at the home of a supporter, a taxi dropped us off in the darkness of Maidstone at 5am. It seemed only a minute since we’d last been there. I felt like I was on a treadmill, my life was turning into one long walk.
We wandered round central Slough looking for the sanctuary of the canal which was the next 12-mile leg. I felt wiped out. It hurt to walk. Each foot had at least three blisters. It was 9am.
Our appearance was the definition of conspicuous, with reflective jackets and weathered chest signs. A man in a white builders’ van heckled us. “What was that?” asked Mil. “I think it was ‘You’re doing a great job.’” I replied.
We powered down the towpath of the Grand Union Canal. Every few miles we met up with our support car and snacked on nuts and jam sandwiches.
We came off the canal at Brentwood and started the walk through central London. It was the toughest part of the walk, my legs throbbed and it felt like I was walking on hot coals.
By Hammersmith Mil had remembered the words to a verse from an anti-bomb song. “Can you hear the H-Bomb’s thunder?” We were singing almost at the tops of our voices, “Do not heed the men of war”. I felt slightly embarrassed as people turned back to look at the sight of us, but it felt like the right thing to do.
We came out at the Mall on Trafalgar Square. It was 10.36pm. We both noticed how light and fresh the air was.
It felt like what I imagine it’d feel like when reaching the summit of Everest. We’d walked over 50 miles in 36 hours.
It took a while to get over the walk. Weeks later, I still felt reverberations. It had taken a deep store of energy.
But someone had to do the Aldermaston march in the fiftieth anniversary year. I’m glad to have been one of them.