It was the first time I’d been on a march of any kind. I was only 7, but my Mum and Dad took me and my two sisters (aged 9 and 5). I remember it being the most amount of people I’d ever seen in one place. I remember the noise; whistles, shouting, chants. You could feel the anger of the people, but there was also a sense of hope; that a march of this size, with this many people would be sure to stop the invasion.