Education correspondent Edd McCracken joins city�s schools sit-in protest to celebrate Easter

Good Friday evening in the Wyndford estate in Glasgow: crosses of every description are being carried. The annual procession from Gairbraid Parish Church, containing worshippers from local Protestant and Catholic communities, weaves its way through the tower blocks. A rugged cross is at the head of the procession.

This year, however, it takes a diversion. The group stops to pray silently in the playgrounds of Wyndford and St Gregory's primary schools - previously separated by religious denomination and no more than 10ft of tarmac.

However, this Good Friday there are no divisions. Both schools are currently occupied by parents united in protest against Glasgow City Council's proposals to shut them. A group of this most unlikely set of revolutionaries - mums and grandmothers - emerge from behind fire escape doors of Wyndford primary to join in prayer. One of them, "Big" Jackie Weir, starts to cry.

"That's the only time I've ever seen that, the two churches standing together," she said, taking her glasses off to mop her eyes. "It's been stressful, but seeing the two faiths standing together made it for me. I was greetin'."

Emotions have run high since 20 parents took over the schools on April 3. Mothers and fathers fighting for the primaries use the Easter story as a convenient reference point. Innocence is being persecuted and punished, they say, by an oppressive regime.

It is this sense of injustice that explains why a group of men and women who have never been in trouble with the police have taken such drastic and potentially illegal action: an indefinite takeover of Glasgow City Council property. This Easter, they are clear who is cast as Pontius Pilate: Steven Purcell, the city council's leader.

Friday evening is spent planning Saturday's Easter egg hunt. Each of the 79 eggs has the face of a Labour councillor on it. The top prize of a Thornton's egg will go to the child who finds the Steven Purcell egg. "Because he sure as hell can't be found in the city," said Ruby Grant, a 56-year-old with three grandchildren at St Gregory's.

Parents have employed a rota to ensure both buildings remain occupied. In the Wyndford gym are four inflatable mattresses for protesters to sleep on. It's a similar sight next door in St Gregory's, where the parents go to sleep under banners proclaiming Hands Off Our Skools and Purcell Says Regeneration But Proposes Degeneration. "At times it does feel like it's the Big Brother house," said Claire McGuinness, 30, whose daughter attends St Gregory's. She puts on a Geordie accent: "Day eight in St Gregory's gym hall."

Just a week ago, the parents from each school would acknowledge each other with hasty nods of the head. Now they spend evenings together in protest. "Now we know each other's families and give each other hugs when we see each other," said McGuinness. "Now everyone knows everyone. What the council have done is brought the community together."

Glasgow City Council has remained tight-lipped throughout the occupation, releasing the same statement about its proposal to close 25 primary schools and nurseries across the city. It ends: "No decisions will be made on any of these proposals until a meeting of the full council on April 23."

Interaction between the protesters and the council has been more informal. John Butcher, education services principal officer, has visited several times. Several of the mums joke that he has a crush on Ruby Grant.

"And Steven Purcell just added me as a friend on Facebook," said Nicola Rathmill, a mother of two. "I wonder if he knows who I am?"

It is not just parents who are inside the school. Locals and well-wishers from further afield have been inspired. Alice is one. She's there to support the "audacity" of the parents. "It is just beautiful," she says of the takeover. "We're sick of the council riding roughshod over people, holding fake consultations. We have had enough of it. These people are great.

"This place has become a symbol. This is a community that is standing up for itself. The women are so brave. You can see that they've grown in confidence as the week has gone on."

As the evening grows late, talk turns to critiquing what has been written about them on internet message boards. Cups of tea are bountiful. As are Easter eggs.

Before bedtime, the calls start coming in from sleepy sons and daughters being tucked in by nearby relatives.

It is the part of the occupation that the mums find the hardest. "We don't want to be in here," said one. "Sure, we've had a laugh, but we miss our kids a lot."

McGuinness's daughter is staying with her parents tonight. "She's been hearing us on the radio. When I leave her in the mornings she says proudly, You're going to save my school'," she says. In a corner, Grant is saying good night to her granddaughter: "No, I love you more sweetheart."

She offers her final piece of advice before hanging up for the night: "And remember your prayers."