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The London March. 6 March 1971.
They came by train, bus, car, and on foot—droves of them—women from all over England, for the National Women’s Liberation Movement march. They aggregated at Hyde Park Corner, a pulsing, buzzing, throng of bodies sprouting as the minutes passed.
Then, as if prearranged, the procession moved when the first snowflakes sifted down. Feeding off each other, the March took on a life all its own. It throbbed and ebbed as it wormed its way toward Trafalgar Square. The snow became a benediction, an unending veil, draped over their heads and shoulders as they forged ahead.
Emilee and Tracy, along with dozens of supporters, had left Oxford Station at 5:30 in the morning. Fortunately, Tracy, at that stage the more practical one, had had the presence of mind to lis
