On Armistice Day I made my way to Parliament Square with some vague notion of protecting Churchill’s statue. I’d discussed the need to stop it being defiled by pro-Palestinian protestors a few days earlier with a group I’m involved with called the British Friends of Israel, but in my head this had been a theoretical discussion, not something that involved me personally. Then Allison Pearson, a member of the group, announced in the Telegraph that she intended to stand in front of the statue armed with a rolled-up copy of the paper, and I felt shamed into joining her. Not that I was worried about her being knocked over by some thug in a Hamas headband. Rather, I didn’t want her to hog all the glory if a last-ditch defence proved necessary.

I had expected something to interrupt the solemnity, but I couldn’t have been more wrong

All the Tube lines that stop in Westminster – the Jubilee, Circle and District lines – were closed until 3 p.m., presumably to make it harder for any protestors to get there, although this wasn’t much of a deterrent. I got the Piccadilly line to Green Park and walked. It was a beautiful day and as I strolled through St James’s Park in my best suit with a couple of fellow patriots, one a veteran of the Royal Navy, I felt more like an extra in Mary Poppins than someone about to participate in a re-enactment of Rorke’s Drift. We paused halfway through to take some pictures of the pelicans.

When we arrived at the north-east corner of Parliament Square, the area in front of the statue was occupied by two groups, one made up of middle-aged intellectuals holding up pro-Israel banners, and the other of white working-class men who would later be described by the Guardian as ‘football hooligans’. I felt ambivalent about the second of these groups. On the one hand, they would undoubtedly be very useful if a mob of masked protestors arrived with Palestinian flags and spray cans. But on the other, I didn’t want to be lumped in with them if any trouble broke out. I could picture the pursed-lipped BBC news reader introducing the item: ‘In Westminster earlier today, the two minutes’ silence to commemorate Armistice Day was interrupted by a far right mob, including the journalist Toby Young, throwing bottles at a group of mostly peaceful Muslim protestors and shouting, “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”’

Luckily, as more members of the British Friends of Israel arrived, along with Telegraph-reading fans of Allison’s, the other group began to wander off. Was it because we had effectively claimed the space? I cannot imagine they were intimidated by us. Was it the fact that a press photographer arrived and started snapping away? That may have been a factor. Or did they just take one look at us and conclude this wasn’t where the action was? If so, they were right. In the hour and a half I spent ‘guarding’ Churchill’s statue, I only spotted two pro-Palestinian protestors and they both looked lost rather than intent on doing damage. The march wasn’t due to begin until noon and the starting point was Hyde Park Corner, about a mile away.

Instead of engaging in hand-to-hand combat with black-clad militants, I spent the morning chatting to like-minded conservatives. ‘Do you two know each other?’ Allison said at one point, introducing me to Gary Mond, the president of the Jewish Assembly. ‘You were both at Trinity.’ We reminisced about what a lovely place it is. Another gentleman sought me out to tell me that he was a fellow QPR fan and would be heading to Loftus Road that afternoon to watch the first home game under our new manager, Marti Cefuentes. That turned out to be equally uneventful – a 0-0 draw with Bristol City.

When the clock struck 11, the only sound for the next two minutes, apart from the passing traffic, was a police helicopter overhead. I had expected something ugly and unpleasant to interrupt the solemnity of the occasion, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Everywhere I looked, people were standing to attention, heads bowed, many of them veterans wearing their medals. It was a Remembrance Day scene straight out of a Pathé newsreel. Later, when I watched the footage on the BBC news of protestors and counter-protestors clashing with the police, and saw pictures of ‘peace marchers’ holding up vile anti-Semitic placards, it was as if I’d been in a different universe that morning.

I had left my house at 8.30 a.m. with a sense of foreboding, convinced I was going to witness a country divided against itself. But when I returned after lunch to take my sons to QPR, I felt almost elated. My trip to Parliament Square was a salutary reminder that beneath Britain’s roiling, disputatious surface there is still an ocean of old-fashioned decency.