Tribal Britain: The Flowerpot tribe

Joe Conway looks down wistfully at the red scar being gouged into the bottom of Newcastle's leafy Jesmond Dene. 'Any sign of a chainsaw and we'll be back up those trees before you can say bulldozer,' he says. Behind him, another member of the tribe pulls out her penny- whistle and plays a folky tune. His scowl turns to a grin.

In the summer, the Flowerpot Tribe mounted a four- month long direct action campaign to stop work on the pounds 12m Cradlewell bypass being built through their beloved Dene. They squatted in hammocks to stop trees being felled, danced on top of the bulldozers and built barricades. But despite holding up work temporarily, preparation goes on for the huge viaduct and tunnel that will cut into the park and woodland below the genteel neighbourhood of Jesmond, half

a mile from the city

centre.

Like the Dongas in Hampshire and the direct action campaigns fanning out across the country, from Norwich to North Wales, they question the wisdom of spending billions on new roads while public services are being run down.

None of the tribe's six core members comes from Jesmond itself. Michelle, a 24- year-old single mother swathed in faded woollen jumpers and a porkpie hat, lives in a council flat on the other side of the Dene. 'I only came for a barbecue and I ended up becoming a full- time Flowerpot,' she giggles. 'I grew up playing on the Dene and I want my two children to enjoy it the way it is. If this bypass is built, what's next? A Texas superstore?'

In wire-rimmed glasses and long, stripy scarf, Joe Conway looks as if he's walked off the set of University Challenge. The tribe's main co-ordinator, Joe comes from the less prosperous area of Byker. Illness has prevented him from working and he is campaigning while on the dole. The four other members are studying at Newcastle University, although most of their time is spent raising funds and rallying support.

'I think a lot of people round Jesmond have either given up or moved out. After all, they've been fighting this for 14 years,' says Joe. 'In the end it's down to people like us, who've got relatively little to lose, to do it ourselves.'

On the first day of action in June, 50 local supporters joined forces to built a barricade across the site. 'Some of the local children helped us out by bringing a load of flower pots,' explains Joe. 'After that we were always known as the Flowerpot Tribe.'

While some locals dismissed the tribe and their supporters as 'scruffy dole scroungers', others, like hoteliers Penny and Geoffrey Stansfield, welcomed the tribe's youthful energy. The couple donated 11 hammocks, which became central to the tribe's 'tree-squatting' protest. Those with a head for heights took it in turns to lie in the hammocks, sometimes for days at a time, 30ft up in trees designated for the chop. A 'ground-support' team supplied them with food and drink, using a system of bucket pulleys.

'It wasn't as much fun as it sounds,' says Jo, a 23-year- old with beaded dreadlocks, who is studying religion at Newcastle University. 'It got pretty damp and cold. It didn't help when kids came along and threw stones at us. But we really did feel like a tribe. I think a lot of people like the idea of the warrior- spirit. You know, fighting for something you really believe in.'

Today, the tribe claims a minor victory. The 'squatted' trees are still standing and work is restricted to earthmoving and digging. Newcastle upon Tyne City Council says that all necessary felling has been completed for the time being.

More recently, the focus has shifted to the 40-strong 'Warriors of Wanstead', who are squatting in houses under threat from work on the M11 extension in east London. Several members of the Flowerpot Tribe have travelled down to give their lend support.

'Even if we lose the campaign up here in Newcastle,' Joe says, 'It'll be a warning to other road-building schemes that they're not going to get away with it lightly.'

(Photograph omitted)