‘I wanna hold your hand’

This is a piece written at the time of the holding hands event which celebrated 300 years of British Gibraltar

By Andrew Abrines

For the last two weeks the question on everyone’s lips had been, “Are you going to hold hands?”, and now the big day had come at last. Having been declared a national holiday, we awoke on that Tuesday morning with a relaxed weekend feeling in the air.

The place is Gibraltar and the date August 4, 2004; the 300th anniversary to the day, when the British captured the Rock from Spain. This was to be one of the biggest socio/political events of our tercentenary year when thousands of Yanitos (Gibraltarians) and supporters from UK and beyond, would join hands to form a human chain marking the outline of our small nation’s territory thus emphasizing to everyone, especially Spain, our love for our homeland.

After a quiet breakfast with my mother, peace gave way to pre-special-event domestic hubbub, as my eldest sister and her family, over from England, awoke late as usual and began getting ready. Voices were raised, kettles boiled, clothes chosen and teeth cleaned, and after phone calls were made and received to clarify the questions of how? when? and where? (we all knew why), we set forth on our special family outing.

It was 9.30am. and immediately outside our block of flats all was weekend-like calm, but as we made our way down the hills and steps towards the lower and outer levels of our section of Gibraltar’s western slopes, we saw friends and neighbours all walking purposefully down as if they knew were they were going and were eager to get there. 10 minutes later, as we emerged on to Rosia Road, the full expectation of the day greeted us. All along this wide avenue skirted by the old city walls were hundreds of our fellow Yanitos dressed in our national colours of red and white, to varying degrees of flamboyance depending on age or patriotism, while groups and individuals constantly swelled the crowd from the various tributary streets and lanes leading down to our stretch of ‘the line’.

Children practiced joining hands as parents chatted among themselves, and the elderly took advantage of any low walls or public benches to rest, while awaiting the grand signal. We made our way to the main assembly point at Southport gates and having received our free red cap, we retraced our steps and took up a position below the stone dockyard clock tower. Milling crowds on the pavement now gave way to more orderly lines along the road, and soon we were ready, just awaiting the single canon shot at 10.30am which would be the signal for us and thousands other Gibraltarians, similarly lined up around The Rock’s approximately seven mile perimeter, to join hands and thereby hold our small territory in a symbolic embrace.

There were several false starts and cries of “Quick! Give me your hand.”; then someone started a Mexican wave which rippled unevenly along the road and round the bend, but at last as impatience began to creep in among the less enthusiastic, there came the unmistakable loud bang of a single canon shot. We all linked hands immediately, family and strangers alike, and waited. Minutes later we heard the clatter of helicopter blades and saw a gleaming helicopter whirling around to the north, swooping and turning as it commenced taking aerial shots of the lines of proud Gibraltarians.

Still we held on and now it was flying in our direction, past us and away, only to twist again and come roaring by once more, this time right over our heads! This was our moment and we all raised clenched hands and proud voices in victory and excitement! It made one final pass with all of us cheering and then wheeled away to the south to film further along the human chain. Soon after, another canon shot signalled the end of this part of the day’s celebrations and the row of people broke ranks and moved off, in groups and twos and threes, chatting excitedly.

The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly: the holiday was just beginning.