We stood up to be counted, to support the rural way of life

But having a slaughterman on board might give away that we had not headed to the capital for a "jolly", but to be counted as part of the 407,791 supporters of the rural way of life who took part in the Liberty and Livelihood march.

Yet, while their professions are no different from those of their urban counterparts, their hobbies set them apart and sent them marching. As followers of the county's Deerness Valley Foxhounds and members of the Glen Gun Club, they feel they will soon be criminalised for carrying out traditional country pursuits.

The master of hounds, Dave Cowie, a construction worker, was honest enough to admit he had issued the three-line whip to his members.

"But I didn't have to twist their arms very hard," he said. "While we are here to prevent a ban on our sport, we are also supporting those who stand to lose a damn sight more than us because they have to make a living off the land.

"To be honest, I think we're wasting our time, because the powers that be have already made up their minds, but you have to make a fight of it."

He feels his sport will be regulated, bringing a whole new raft of problems when rules are drawn up by people with no knowledge of the subject.

The march, organised by the Countryside Alliance, was divided into two contingents, which converged at a central point. We had instructions to make our way to our nearest assembly point - the Livelihood part of the march at Blackfriars - and that was our first indication that we were to become a part of the largest civil rights march in our country's history.

Although still only 9.45am, we were stopped by police from crossing the Thames via the Millennium footbridge - our designated route - presumably because of the bottleneck of marchers already collecting at the other side of the river. We had to walk downriver, to cross at London Bridge, before running into a human wall. This was then marshalled into Monument tube station and out up the other side, in a fruitless bid to keep us moving.

The police, although not allowed to express opinions, seemed genuinely bemused by the sheer volume of people intent on leaving them with nothing to do on a sunny Sunday.

For anyone not there, it is difficult to imagine more than 400,000 people trying to reach two starting points; it might be easier to picture if I say that, on emerging from Monument tube station it took us two hours to reach the start less than two miles away.

Well-known faces such as TV cook Clarissa Dickson-Wright, actor Edward Fox, footballer- turned-film star Vinnie Jones and leader of the opposition Iain Duncan-Smith were cheered as their images were flashed up on huge screens along the routes.

But it was the quiet dignity of the farmers and their families, sportsmen and those who live in the countryside which made the march what it was.

During one standstill, I spoke to an elderly couple who feared their local post office would close, leaving them with no means of cashing their pension.

"With no bank in our village and a bus service twice a week, we felt we had to come and be heard," they said. As we moved on they were soon lost in the sea of faces and I didn't catch where they were from, but it does not matter because their story was echoed by others from all over the country.

A farmer, sweating under a cow's head he had made from sponge, told me it was costing him more to produce a litre of milk that the 15.5p he was paid for it.

But there were also lighter moments which at times led to an almost carnival atmosphere. A group of Americans received huge cheers as they paraded the Stars and Stripes in front of a brass band. A contingent from France, carrying a banner reading "The Frogs are hopping mad against a ban on hunting" were also cheered.

As the slow trek down Victoria Embankment came to an end, the mood changed to one of sombre respect as the marches converged in silence to head into Whitehall and file past the Cenotaph.

This meant they could not give vent to shouting their feelings towards Downing Street - probably just as well, if the mass of derogatory, although often humorous, banners were anything to go by.

One woman had lost an uncle in battle in 1944. "He died fighting the rgime of the last man who tried to force a ban on hunting," she said. "His name was Adolf Hitler."

But, ultimately, it was not about hunting, shooting, fishing, farming, rural post offices, lack of transport or the effects of foot-and-mouth. It was about all those things.

And I, a city girl who came to live in the countryside 30 years ago, had a lump brought to my throat by the people I could see across the river, still queuing to march past the starting point 7 hours after my party had first set out.

I shall be proud to tell my grandchildren that I took part in the largest civil rights march this country has ever seen.

* At the end of the march, with time to kill until roads were reopened, some of our party visited Tate Modern. As they came out, more than bemused by exhibits which included two toenails on a square of blue felt, one said: "Talk about the emperor's new clothes. It's no wonder we don't understand each other's way of life. But surely that doesn't stop us from tolerating it.