I expected them to be a group of goggle-eyed, vein-popping Christian fundamentalists, telling me that we were all going to burn in hell. It wasn’t exactly like that, but it was still pretty fucking weird. The team was small, only around four or five people, and I was surprised by how amateurish the set-up was. They had to stand in front of their graphic poster to stop it falling over on them and they wore cameras strapped to their chest for “protection” which reeked of tinfoil-hat paranoia. Their leader, Ruth, was late, so I was greeted by Dave.
For a pro-life nutter, Dave was surprisingly friendly. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind spending an afternoon with, but still, not the kind of bloke you’d go to the pub with. His camera was strapped over a festive blue fleece. He went to Oxford, where he was a member of the a cappella society. He got involved with the protests through his friend Christian, a pro-life activist in Ireland.
Dave seems like, quintessentially, a nice guy. Talking to him while standing in front of a bloody, eight week old foetus is disconcerting.
“Many people don’t want to look at it, which is understandable”, he says. “I don’t want to look at it. It’s not a nice thing to look at. People do get upset, sometimes they say you shouldn’t be showing this. Because we want to show people the truth and this is the truth.”