Defiance that slowly melted on the convoy's long road south

Peter Jackson, a farmer, revved the engine of his big tractor as he inched past irate motorists in a long traffic jam caused by fellow fuel protestors. He said: "I think we're doing the British public a service."

Peter Jackson, a farmer, revved the engine of his big tractor as he inched past irate motorists in a long traffic jam caused by fellow fuel protestors. He said: "I think we're doing the British public a service."

The vaunted popular uprising against the Government's fuel policies at first roared into life and then spluttered badly yesterday as a wildly hotchpotch convoy began its four-day journey to London from the pot-hole-riddled parking area of a Gateshead truckstop.

Such sentiments as those held by Mr Jackson were common currency among the tribe of overall-clad hauliers and tweed-jacketed farmers that gathered to bring their message of no compromise to Gordon Brown, the Chancellor.

Many of those caught on the receiving end of the demonstration may have begged to differ with the protest's purpose as it reduced the centre of Newcastle to a giant car park for two hours yesterday in the name of cheaper petrol and diesel.

They believed they were on a mission, for which, however misguided the whole project was, they were determined to make their highly disruptive point..

Mr Jackson, 42, an affable and erudite man who had travelled from his 2,000-acre farm in nearby Ponteland, said: "This is about two minorities - countryside people and hauliers - who have been excluded by the Government for the sake of saving a few million pounds.

"I think we are doing the British public a service. We protested in September and it has brought concessions for everyone. Now we are making it clear that we need and expect more," he said.

For those intent on prodding Mr Brown into a further loosening of his fiscal purse-strings, the start of the convoy was promising as more than 70 vehicles, including 23 juggernauts and 17 tractors - paraded through Newcastle in the mid-morning sunshine.

But when the rolling protest - dubbed variously Jarrow Crusade 2000 and Convoy GB - joined the A1 four hours later, heading for the capital, the numbers had dwindled to a dozen trucks and the same number of other vehicles - many of them driven by the following pack of journalists.

It was to be a day, quite literally, of ups and downs. As the initial convoy symbolically filed past the Angel of The North sculpture overlooking the A1 with their yellow lights flashing, spirits among participants were bullish.

Along the road to their other Geordie landmark, the Tyne Bridge, some bystanders waved and clapped. Others in queues of traffic, however, mouthed expletives and made an unmistakable gesture with their middle fingers.

It was clear that the selfappointed "heroes" of the fuel blockades two months ago were not going to have it all their own way.

Each proteste r entering the truckstop embarkation point was handed a letter from the Northumbria Police, laying down a restricted route around Newcastle and offering blunt warnings of arrest.

Once the tractors and other protesters excluded fromjoining the motorway had departed a few hours later, however, the mood of the sabre-rattling campaigners had become more about compliance than defiance.

John Coxon, second in command of this English-style Operation Escargot, said: "We don't want to be arrested, nor do we want to jeopardise public safety. We will comply with all the police restrictions."

Once on the A1 and heading south, the long arm of the law wasted no time imposing its own order on what was rapidly becoming a rather meek people's rebellion.

The moment a gap opened up in their greatly reduced procession as one lorry headed up a steep hill, a squad car zipped along the hard shoulder with its lights flashing to hurry the driver along. No matter, apparently, that the vehicle may have simply been having difficulties with the incline.

By 4.30pm, the nomads had been corralled by the authorities into yet another car parkfor the night, this timeat the Ferrybridge Services near Pontefract.

It had, according to organisers, been a long day.

Martin Falkinham, a Farmers for Action member travelling in his mud-spattered Land Rover, said: "The police tell us one thing, then make us do another. Be sure of one thing though, we will be in London and we will be heard."

Now, if they can just get out of Pontefract.