In the early ’90s, in distant Australia, it was clear that Glastonbury was the pinnacle of festivals, its line-up a cornucopia of artists, with an unsurpassed reputation. Once I found myself in England, it was something that I sought to experience.
In ‘95, the year when Brit Pop was at it’s pinnacle, the opportunity arose, as I joined a group of friends heading to the West Country. We gathered in Bristol for the journey to the festival site on a Thursday in late June, with the forecast promising perfect weather across the weekend. Backpacks were loaded up with tents and sleeping bags, and everything else that might help us enjoy the four days ahead of us.
Approaching the gates – we had tickets after all, though vulnerabilities in the security fence meant that it was no obstacle if you didn’t – we were intercepted by a member of the Gideons, correctly surmising that salvation would be required for many after their visit to the festival, which surely had it’s seedy side. I slowed respectfully, unsure how to deal with this man of God.
Gideon: “Would you like to take a free bible with you today?” Frankly, I wasn’t keen.
My friend Gavin: “No thank you, I’ve got a much bigger one of those at home!” A blatant lie.
The swiftness of the response, delivered with a bright swagger, and a smile that would make a Mormon blush, seemed to set the tone for what lay ahead. Cast aside those doubts and enjoy.
Worthy Farm was massive, much bigger than I’d expected, and it took quite some time to explore. Aside from the many music stages, there was a lot of other stuff going on, making this quite a social spectacle, too. There was a naturally relaxed atmosphere, perhaps aided by the ingestion of the gentle fumes that drifted across the site.
The spiritual focus of the site was the Stone Circle, part of the “Sacred Space”, a natural gathering place for festival goers, its location also allowing one to truly grasp the scale of the festival.
That’s where this photograph originates. Of course in 1995, we didn’t all have mobile phones in our pockets, and my proper camera was left securely at home, so this was snapped on a little disposable.
Regardless, the blurry image takes me back to all the good things of that visit to Glastonbury: the four days of shirts-off weather, the sea of relaxed people, the fields of tents, the company of good friends, and some fantastic live performances – think Pulp, Portishead, Jeff Buckley, The Cure, Oasis, PJ Harvey. Good times.
It was a shame when Monday morning arrived – at 4am – with an escape to catch a fast train from Bristol back to London, and, via a quick clean up at home, into work. Within hours, I realised I was spent, and slunk home to sleep off my sins. There was no way a Gideon Bible was saving me.