Storm

Today was all sweetness and light and we enjoyed a good walk out in the forest, though as afternoon gave way to evening the sky changed becoming angrier looking as clouds began to spill over the horizon; there must be a storm coming. Sure enough when the sun finally sunk, the clouds thickened, the sky darkened, Thor struck his hammer and in the distance lights flashed across a mottled backdrop. As twilight succumbed to night the storm drew closer and the space between thunder and lightning flash diminished until they were simultaneous, the storm was upon us and the night was illuminated by an electrical storm the like of which I can't remember. We ventured to the cliff top to join the others who always congregate at such moments, there we enjoyed the show, oohs and arrs accompanied every flash, and there were plenty of them, sometimes several at the same time.  Almost continuous lighting for over 10 minutes, I've never seen anything like it! Nature's great, scary, but great.

The Spreading Oak

Another notable ancient today, this time the Spreading Oak it the north of the forest. Set in open heath between Slufters and Ocknell enclosures the Spreading Oak is 5.6m in circumference, making it at least 500 years old or more probably much older.  On the ground in the shade of its dense canopy lie numerous bough in various stages of decomposition, which over the years have fallen foul of the high winds which frequently scour the forests high northern plateau. Where a branch has fallen in the past a hollow in the Oak has formed, the specks (which look like dust on the lens) you can see are lots of wild honey bees who have made their home therein; frantically collecting the returning then embarking on collection one again, the traffic was busy and they fill the air. A beautiful ancient oak its tranquil setting is disturbed only by the nearby and noisy A31; still though, well worth a visit.

St. Nicholas Yew

Tucked away up a lane on the outskirts of Brockenhurst in the New Forest is the 12th century church of St. Nicholas, a lovely building in itself, though what singles it out as special is the 1000 year plus old Yew (Taxus baccata) that stands beside it. What a magnificent tree. It's common to find Yews in churchyards, their association with death and rebirth extends far back into human history. To the Iron Age Celts the Yew was sacred (a Romano-British temple is thought to have stood here before the Christian church) and to the Saxons too, both pagan and Christian, the tree also held significance (a Saxon church also stood on this site), it's more than likely that its importance to people extends well into prehistory.  Its almost universal importance where ever found suggests its roots are deeply entwined with our own spiritual consciousness as does the continuity with which it remains as religious practices and paths rise and fall. If you're over this way take time out to visit it and spend some time in its company.

Choock

There's still Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureusto) be found out in the forest, even with so little rain, and this example from Jacks Wood was very fresh and had the most wonderful and vibrant colours.

The Graveyard Book, Vol 1

Over time I've read several graphic novels which had been graphic representations of previously released traditional format novels, and none had really hit the spot, there was always something lacking, something didn't gel and I always came away disappointed. Not so with The Graveyard Book, Vol 1: P Craig Russells graphic interpretation of Neil Gaimans novel. Now you can't go far wrong with Gaimans work anyway, he consistently produces quality work and Russell's done that work proud, both in his adaptation and as one of the many artists who've contributed to the graphic.  The story focuses on 'Bod' a baby who escapes the murder of his family and finds sanctuary in a near by graveyard, there through the graveyards inhabitants he learns about life and the world, having been accepted as one of them. I shan't give anymore away other than to say it's a charming story beautifully written and illustrated by all the contributing artists, peppered with historical snippets, filled with great characters and situations all of which lead us towards answering the questions posed by the initial events.  A great read, I can't wait to read The Graveyard Book, Vol 2; the concluding chapter.

Marlycombe Hill

The idea of a timeless British countryside can often be seen as an over used cliché, something that never really was and only exists in our collective imaginations, although walking in the hills above the Chalke Valley it's hard not to be drawn into the idea of just such a thing.  Nostalgia's  funny, described as 'a sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past', in many cases for a period we never experienced first hand and only see positively through rose coloured glasses. I think as our society fractures, our systems continue to decay and we find ourselves in times of social upheaval with the threat of chaos, our desire for the stability of a perceived 'better time' becomes ever stronger. 

Nuts are forming

I noticed my first hazelnuts this afternoon, and you know what it's like, once you notice one you notice them all and it appeared that many of the trees were amply covered. The foragers friend, high in protein, carbohydrates and un-saturated fat, along with ample vitamins and minerals, hazelnuts make for an important wild food resource which stores easily and well; there's evidence of wide scale collection and processing of hazelnuts in our island since the Mesolithic and no doubt they'd have been utilized for a long time before. It'll be awhile yet before I'm out collecting, though it's nice to see them coming along.

Six spot Burnet

Todays caterpillar is that of the Six spot Burnet (Zygaena filipendulae): the Six spot Burnet is a day flying moth you'd certainly recognize from hot sunny days walking in grassland, it's the distinctive black one with red spots on its wings. You know the one. We saw several of these pulpy little fellows clinging to the stout grasses covering the ramparts at Badbury.

Badbury again

The sun may have been shy yesterday at sunset, though this evening looked promising so we made our way back to Bradbury once again, the sky was clear tonight and as the sun sunk slowly below the distant hills it dragged the days colour with it. Nice.

Summer Solstice

We came to watch the solstice sun go down and down it went, though as much as we sought it, we didn't see it as it was beyond layers and layers of cloud. We knew it was there mind and made our connection. It didn't really matter though that there was no sunset, we sat quietly amongst the wealth of wildflowers adorning the ramparts of Badbury Rings, looking out over the rolling Dorset landscape and enjoyed the remains of the day, the last chorus of birds before dark and the waking calls of distant owls, things began stirring somewhere in the undergrowth behind us as the end of the day for some is the beginning of the night for others. Solstice blessing y'all.

Anti austerity march in London

A day of two halves, of positives and negatives, uplifting and depressing in equal measure... equilibrium.  I'll try and balance both sides as I go along. Well, firstly there weren't as many participating as I'd have liked or hoped for.  That said, those who attended came from diverse organizations, were from across the country and were of various ages, genders and cultural backgrounds, representation was diverse; one aspect that I was particularly heartened by were the amount of young people who took part, it's often cited that young people are apathetic, and yes, many no doubt are, but maybe it's more that they've not had the opportunities or scope to participate and that decent is not condoned.  I was happy to see that there was more media coverage for this protest than usually given to the multitude of weekly demonstrations somewhere in the country and most of it quite fair, even generous when citing '250,000 protesters', there was no way that many people were there; though the mainstream media coverage still focused on the celebrities rather than the issues, that said, online coverage was very good and many of the celebrity speakers were great, Charlotte Church, Mark Steel and Jeremy Corbyn in particular, Natalie Bennett too was for more articulate in person than on radio or tv.  The Police, ones I saw anyway, acted with good humour, one even posing for a less than flattering photo with his ice cream. Many clearly understood who the enemy was and why the people were marching; front line officers weren't tooled up for war, the riot types were kept in back roads so not to insight no doubt, and you couldn't feel an overly oppressive ominous atmosphere which was refreshing, even the exploits of the Black/Red Flag types received the minimum of attention. There was a positive atmosphere with performers, music, some imaginative placards and general good spirits, it was uplifting to be with others of similar minds, knowing you're not alone in the fight, giving some glimmer of hope and maybe a chance of change; though I had to steel myself for the facts: hope can be a dangerous illusion and change is never easily won, I had to fight hard to keep my nihilism at bay. Still, on reflection I saw more to be positive about than negative, though I'm under no illusion that things are going to get a lot worse before, or if, any positive changes are to manifest. We need to engage in more protests whilst we still enjoy that right, show our dissent, we need to make the government fight for every policy they try to foist upon us; not only to stem their assaults on all we hold dear, but for our own sanity and dignity. This doesn't only have to be on mass rallies in capitols, more importantly it has to be locally, on local issues. If one thing has firmly established itself in my mind it's that the only chance we have to facilitate the changes we want to see, is by taking local actions is our best prospect and that's where hope will be kept alive and nurtured.  

Solstice ritual

The wheel has turned and Solstice approaches, it's time for ritual celebration. Tonight I joined other pagan types of differing paths in the forest for one of the Clan of the Pheryllt's seasonal open rituals. I saw many a familiar face and new ones to boot; I think I've been attending Pheryllt rituals for nearly 4 years now, they're a great group, very friendly and welcoming. As is usual with the  Clan of the Pheryllt's open rituals it was an friendly affair, the ritual was an OBOD* one and so Druidic in nature; I liked that as it was through such rituals I came to my spiritual path and feel very comfortable with them.  As I said, the participants are a nice bunch and the rituals always have a family feel to them, undertaken with genuine reverence for our natural world and all who dwell therein, with love and often with a fair portion of humour. Tonight there were a couple of bardic offerings too: a lady with a flute/whistle type thing which had a First Nation sound to it played a beautiful tune, followed by Spanish lady singing a captivating song she had written. I wish I had the confidence to participate I see in others. Another lovely ritual leaving you feeling good. Afterwards we adjourned to the Forest Inn in Brockenhurst for the moot portion of the evening, I wasn't going to go what with up early tomorrow, though was talked in to swift one, planning to go before 2200, it was 2300 before I left, still that's by far the earliest I've got away from a Brockenhurst moot. All in all it was a lovely ritual and moot, an evening well spent; a big thank you to the Clan of the Pheryllt.

* Order of Bards Ovates and Druids. 

Evening scent

Is there anything more beautiful or fragrant on evening walks at this time of year than the scent of Honeysuckle on the air? Even singularly their scent is easily smelt and raises the spirits, though on mass their perfume is so heady it overwhelms your senses, holding you momentarily in pure sensory bliss.

Coastal cloud

It was a sweltering day in the Purbeck Hills, for the outward section of our walk we stuck to the shade afforded by the thick canopied deciduous woodland on the inland side of Brenscombe and Godlingston Hills, which was nice, humid but nice. We scrambled along thin animal tracks for the most part as there aren't that many path in much of these woods, using the trees as support and a means of not careering down the steep hillside. The latter wooded section under Godlingston Hill is relatively new walking to me, having only recently been unenclosed by fencing; I'm not sure if there's permissive access, though I took the opportunity to walk there anyway, they can always tell me to 'get orf my land'. Although lovely views, we weren't so fortunate with shade on our return along the ridge, totally exposed the walking was hot and tiring work, our only salvation being the cooling winds coming in from the west. Still, I mustn't complain, as from our vantage point on the high hills we could see that across the Corfe valley the coastal ridge and cliffs were shrouded in thick low cloud and I'd imagine very limited visibility was to be had making for a totally different walking experience.

Bee Orchids

The main purpose of my walk over this way a week or so ago was to see some Bee Orchids (Ophrys apifera), although checking my past posts I was still a bit early, today though my mission was more successful, some had flowered and I was lucky enough to spot them. The Bee Orchid really is a spectacular flower, one of my favourite orchids and one that I'll actively seek out when its season comes around, as its habit is such that it can be abundant for a year or two and then absent for many.  As it happens, last year there was an abundance of Bee Orchids in the spots I know, whereas this year so far they've been scarce. There are several varieties of Bee Orchids, this variety is (Ophrys apifera aurita), it's the only one I've come across to date, though I'll keep looking.

Peacock caterpillar

Following my previous post on caterpillars, there's not mistaking what this seething mass of Peacock Butterfly (Aglais io) caterpillars is saying; black and spiky, they're saying neither 'you ain't seen me, right' nor 'ooh look at me', no they're saying 'f*ck off!'. Further, the Peacock Butterfly caterpillar follows an opposite path to the Drinker Moth caterpillar by going from plain caterpillar to flamboyant butterfly.  It's a funny old world.

Drinker Moth caterpillar

Nature always was to trump even the most imaginative scifi, just look at this Drinker Moth (Euthrix potatoria) caterpillar looking like something from out of this world. Caterpillars, what's their game? You'd think caterpillars would keep their heads down, what with them being all squishy and vulnerable and some of them do, the 'you ain't seen me, right' types that look like twigs of leaves, but not all of them, some are like, 'ooh look at me' all colourful hairs, tufts and markings. I know evolution dictates that both parties must developed their looks with purpose, but what and why, and how and why as in the case of above caterpillar do they change from colourful examples of exuberant embellishment into beautiful, yet plain almost mono coloured moths/butterflies? Still, easily set to wonder as I am, for me every encounter with a caterpillar is akin to meeting an alien and has me gawping slack jawed.

Headless dragon

Sometimes you can be left with more questions than answers when exploring historical/archaeological remains, trying to understand their original form and context can too often be obscured by time and its ravages. Take this piece of decorative stonework on Highcliffe Castle (a fancy house rather than a real castle), beautifully executed, though sadly damaged, possibly during the devastating fire of 1968, if not surely during the subsequent 25 years of dereliction and neglect; for whatever reason, now damaged we can only speculate on the head of this decorative dragon woven into a tree of life. We do have some information though on the stoneworks possible provenance, we know that some of the carved stonework of the castle was pillaged and reused medieval stonework from the Norman Benedictine Abbey of St Peter at Jumieges and from the Grande Maison des Andelys, both in France, and we know the context of the buildings construction by 1st Baron Stuart de Rothesay in the 1830's; though that doesn't help us necessarily know what the dragons head looked like. Neither can I find no pre-dereliction images of this archway. So, we're just left to wonder and use our imagination as to the dragon heads appearance; until that is I discover a relevant photo, of which I'm sure one exists......somewhere. Anyway, for now I'll just enjoy the opportunity to explore French medieval stonework on my doorstep.

Lesser Butterfly Orchid

I came across another new Orchid for me today, the Lesser Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera bifolia). The Lesser Butterfly Orchid is very similar in appearance to the Greater Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera chlorantha) and is also increasingly threatened in the same way by modern pressures on our landscape. The two orchids though favour different environments, the greater, chalkland and woodland whereas the lesser, heathland and woodland; suggesting sadly that there are few landscapes safe from human degradation. The two species can be easily confused as they can be about the same size, although the Lesser Butterfly Orchid is usually a smaller plant, the flowers too are very similar, though a closer look shows there are distinctive differences in form and size. The most noticeable difference is the pollinia, used to contain the plants pollen, in the Greater Butterfly they are well spaced and angled, whereas the Lesser Butterflys' are closer together and parallel. As mentioned they are increasingly under threat, although this evening I found them in their hundreds, which was both a lovely thing to see and heartening.

Hawkeye: My life as a weapon.

I received several graphic novels at Christmas, though with one thing and another I'd not got around to reading any of them; this being very remiss of me I though I'd rectify the situation. The first one I went for was Hawkeye; My life as a weapon, written by Matt Fraction, art by David Aja and Javier Pulido. For me Hawkeye's always been a bit player in the comics/graphics I've read and I've not been too happy with his depiction in recent movie outings (most recent exclude as I've not seen it yet). I didn't really know his character that well, so it was nice to get a better insight into his character through a graphic which centers on him and his escapades. This is Clint Barton Hawkeye. My life as a weapon explores Bartons world, he's got no super powers though is highly trained and experienced in what he does, no magic, he's a ordinary hero with a bit of cash and some good/ powerful connections. Barton's a down to earth sort of guy, a street fighting type who takes his fair share of knocks and isn't adverse to a humorous quip or smart mouthed comment.  Although an Avenger, Barton lives away from the mansion, an outsider by desire, often working alone or with Kate Bishop (another to take up the Hawkeye mantle) fighting organized crime when not fighting super powered villains with the Avengers. This is not an origins story but it does give you a good insight in to Hawkeyes character and lifestyle.

The art is great, old school style yet simultaneously bang up to date, really engaging and Fractions writing too is top notch; well worth a read. My life as a weapon is Vol.1, Vol.2 is definitely now on my wish list.

Wild Beech

I've noticed how the wild Beech grow differently to their forestry cousins; the forestry Beech, managed and nurtured, often grow straight and tall, all bare trunks and canopy; whereas the wild ones grow how they please, thick, with boughs everywhere all covered in a dense thicket of leaves. There's something primeval about some of the wild trees you come across, be they Beech, Oak, Lime, Ash, whatever, you imagine the wild wood would have been populated with trees like these; what a wonder the wild wood must have been and how I'd like to be able explore it. I wish they'd hurry up and sort out time travel.

That's entertainment

What's wrong with folk? The semi naked chained up guy above is a street performer we watched in Covent Garden this afternoon. The guy was good, a bit of comedy, a bit of this, a bit of that, he put his body through a tennis racket and finished with a bit of escapism, hence the chains; for 20 minutes or so he gave us his all and none of it was boring. I enjoy things like this, it reminds me of festivals and such performers always get my respect, because it must take something to get up and make a fool of yourself in an entertaining way in front of a crowd.

Now there must have been 150 plus people watching this guy, all laughing, all enjoying the spectacle of the show; come the end of the performance I moved forward to thank the guy and put a few quid in his hat, he thanked me and was glad we enjoyed his show; I turned to return to my spot expecting to have to dodge fellow audience members heading to spare some change...I was wrong, it turned out that of all the people there only a handful had bothered to contribute, the rest had wandered off. I was shocked, no, I was angry. What are we like, why are we so shite? Thousands of people are willing to subscribe to sky or some other provider of banality, thousands of people are happy to phone in a vote, for a price, on I'm a celebrity, big brother, Britains got talent or some other bollocks; but here was a real guy, in person, entertaining people and hardly anyone could be bothered to chip in a quid. I was appalled. I went back to put a bit more in his hat; he only had about £20, £20 from over 150 people, as I say, appalling. Sometimes I think we'll end up with the culture we deserve and most certainly the culture we've created; a banal mix of celebrity tosh, corporately endorsed nonsense and utter bollocks. Seeing how people have become made me angry, but mainly sad for the humanity we've lost. 

Greater Butterfly Orchid

I added another orchid to my 'orchids what I have found list'; todays addition was the Greater Butterfly Orchid (Platantherachlorantha), a new one on me. I only spied 5 flower spikes though they all stood out, all fighting for space and light amongst the clutter of a chalk grassland thicket that makes up part of Vernditch chase, particularly now in summer when the landscape really comes to life. It may not be as colourful as others I've come across, but it certainly has a striking form; the Greater Butterfly Orchid's quite tall at about 35cm or so, crowned with a long cluster of large greenish white flowers, each flower sporting a long tongue at the front and a very long spur to the rear and I understand they smell of vanilla, although due to a bit of hay fever I couldn't detect any scent. What a lovely find though.

Wartime Graffiti

Of course graffiti is usually done with the intension of leaving ones mark, or memorializing an event or other significant thing, but I feel there's something very special about wartime graffiti. It's the context in which it's created, a period when permanence and longevity must have appeared like luxuries, things that those of the time must have wished and longed for, being always surrounded by the evidence of lifes fragility. What must have been going through the minds of those who carve what could be their last mark in this world. When I come across wartime graffiti I'm always led to wonder whether of not the carver survived, hoping that they did, though treating their marks with reverence as if they may not have.

These two pieces were on adjacent trees, a prominent clump of Beeches clustered near the brow of a hill, set on the corner of a minor road: BENNETT 29. 4. 44 and ME???Y US ARMY I believe are contemporary with each other, the letters above FM ???, ????, MG may or may not be contemporary. Even more poignant as these carvers came a great distance to find themselves in another land waiting to go to war; the date 29th April 1944 is only weeks from D Day, a hard day for the American Army; were these guys part of that and how did they fare? I'd love to find out.

Pignuts

The woodland fringes and meadow edges where covered with Pignuts (Conopodium majus) in flower today, once a favourite with children who'd dig for the sweet tuber or 'nut' which is similar to a sweet chestnut or hazelnut, it has all but been forgotten now as children find themselves increasingly disenfranchised from their natural world and from playing outdoors. The nut can be quite hard to recover as it's located at the end of a fragile and twisting root, though when a fair sized example is recovered it's well worth the effort and makes for a tasty treat; care needs to be taken when chasing the nut, the stem as mentioned can twist and the nut may not be where you think it is and if you break the stem you efforts may end in failure. I'm always cautious of members of the Umbelliferae family as it contains some poisonous members and you can easily misidentify which is which, although only the Pignut forms a tuber of this sort. The photo above shows all the parts of the plant; their white umbel  flower, their much divided leaves, the developing seeds, the long winding root and tuber. These nuts have always been a collected food source, being identified from prehistoric contexts Mesolithic, Neolithic and Bronze Age; their continuation in folk tradition up until recent times is testament to their value as a food source. 

Sunny afternoon

Lying in a flower filled meadow amongst the thigh high grasses, I watched the wind sweep over the grass of an adjacent hillside; like the currents in an invisible stream the wind tussled and tossed the grass as it flowed, hugging the ground and swept across the landscape. Above me the sky was clear, but for a few whispy clouds which raced across my field of view as if running from the sun, and they fled with good reason, as they dissipated and disappeared under it's hot gaze, none made it out of sight. Nestled down amongst the bases of grass and flower, although I can see the grass heads flicking over me, I'm out of the breeze, warming myself like a lizard; I drift off down a labyrinth of thoughts and doze off for a short while. Then all of a sudden I'm aware again, as my eyes begin to itch and I feel a sneeze well up somewhere inside me, it then dawns on me, I'm in bed with the enemy; but by then it's too late. I let forth a chain of sneezes and decide it's time to move on. Hay fever aside, lying in summer meadow bathed in sun has to be one of the nicest ways to pass some time.

Knowlton sunset

The sunset from Knowlton Henge was stunning.

Elderflower

The Elders are just beginning to come into flower, their Pungent aroma filling the evening air, the hedgerows and the woodland fringes. Such a versatile plant, Elder (Sambucus nigra) is a valued deciduous shrub and like so many much neglected today; the flowers are used to flavour teas, cordials and wine, you can also fry them in batter, whilst their berries* can be used for jam and wine. Various parts of the tree have been used in traditional herbal remedies for colds, coughs, respiratory infections and fevers. I must get some yeast and make a demijohn of wine this season. 

* It's been suggested that the berries can be mildly poisonous when unripe.

Brinken Wood

The trees are illuminated by the low evening sun shining through Brinken wood. Evening must be one of the best times for a walk, a time to muse, to mull over the days events and perchance make some sense of them, or sometimes just let your mind wander where it will.

Apples

Small apples are forming on the apple trees over on the common; although there were plenty of sweet smelling blossoms, when the blossom withered so did many many of the shoots, as the tree was suffering some dieback due to a touch of Blossom Wilt. I was pleased today to see so many small fruits developing; the tree has suffered from vandalism and is weakened, more susceptible to disease and I was worried, as much for me as for the tree, as I'd had my eye on this tree as a source of apples to have another go at cider making with.

It was 30 years ago today.

 Photo from http://www.ukrockfestivals.com

It was 30 years ago today that I, along with some friends and several hundred others, gathered in Amesbury with the intention of helping to secure the Stonehenge Free Festival site; the Stonehenge Free Festival had been held opposite Stonehenge since 1974 and in 1984 we, my friends and I, were blessed to have attended our first life changing free festival at Stonehenge; sadly that was to be our last as the following year the government, who opposed the festival and all it stood for, sought to put an end to years of tradition and banned the festival; the first of many, as all free festivals/gatherings were eventually to be outlawed.

On the 1st of June 1985 the 'Peace Convoy' too, travellers who'd come together (for security no doubt after suffering increasing problems from the authorities) to travel between free festivals/gatherings, were heading towards Stonehenge, they were the nucleus of the festival; their day was to end in tragedy, attacked on the road and forced into a Wiltshire beanfield where the Police, under the direction of the government, set about destroying their homes and their very way of life in the Battle of the Beanfield; though the term battle's a misnomer really, it wasn't a battle it was a one sided slaughter, by an out of control Police force, mandated to do as much damage as possible. But that's not my story, I'd like to recall other events that day near Stonehenge, less well known events; the Police attacked others that day too, before their final attacked the convoy in the beanfield, in the time after attacking the Convoy on the road earlier, they kept warmed up on those near Stonehenge. As I remember it, the day went like this: 

We arrived in Amesbury and were happy to see lots of others of similar mind gathering there too; you have to remember that these were the days before social media, when things were harder to organize, more hit or miss; funny though, more things seemed to get done....weird that. At the designated time, midday I think, the assembled group of heads, hippies, punks and assorted festy goers began to make their way towards Stonehenge; our aim to secure the festival site. Peacefully and in good spirits the group of several hundred processed until we neared the stones. Along the way it was clear from their attitude and behaviour that the Police had nothing but disdain for us; they were rough, gruff and threw all the usual, get a job, have a bath, sort yourself out and similar insults; all the stereo types which had begun to be proliferated by the tabloids, their brains had been thoroughly washed.

As I remember, the Police had formed a line across the A303 on the rise of the New King Barrows, blocking any progress along the road towards the Stones; at this point 200/300 or so of the assembled festival goers flanked the Police line and carried on towards the festival site cross country; I was with this group. We continued unabated until the Police threw up another hasty line, blocking access to what in the previous year had been the festivals, stage field. Now, this Police line was at best loose, manned by no more than 20 or 30 officers, easily outnumbered by the assembled group if we'd so desired; but this was a peaceful affair, at least from our side, and so we sat down, chilled and celebrated how close to the festival site we were. Our chill out in the sun wasn't to last for long, as a convoy of Police bedfords and transits wailed their way towards Stonehenge, coming to stop, in a line on the road beside the Stones; these vehicles emptied and a number of boiler suited, some helmeted, all baton wielding figures massed. I say figures as they had for the most part no markings or insignia to identify them, they could have been anyone; and indeed rumours circulated that they weren't all Police officers and that some were soldiers. The assembled festival goers rose and prepared for a stand off, though that wasn't what the authorities had in mind; as the massed boiler suited figures got closer, they rushed us peaceful protesters, hitting out wantonly with their batons. Some of us formed a stronger line, linking arms, though shock soon spread through the assembled group and it wasn't long before under a sustained attack, all semblance of resistance crumbled; this turn of events wasn't expected, nor were the levels of violence meted out to us; chaos reigned as people scrambled to escape.  In disarray our battered and bloodied group were forced back up onto the A303, at which point I witnessed the extent of the Polices excesses and it Shocked me. I actually saw a pregnant woman with blood running down from her cut eye; I saw countless people kicked, hit, pushed and battened; I saw a disabled man in his wheelchair toppled in a baton charge and then when people tried to help him up they were battered by 2 totally out of control Police officers; at this point, and in the pursuit of balance, I saw a Police Sargent, obviously incensed, rush forward and with what appeared superhuman strength literally throw the 2 offending officers of the group, back in the direction of the vans, shouting at them and then proceed to help the disabled man back into his chair, checking if he was injured; no group is all bad, nor all good.  We were forced back along the A303 where I saw plenty of others bleeding and beaten, all in shock at what had just happened; at one point I slowed to light a fag and was instantly set about with a baton around my elbows and ribs, a biker guy shouted at the officer to stop hitting me, whereupon said officer turned his baton on him. Just then I saw 2 senior officers with pips on their shoulders nearby, I approached them telling them what I'd seen, what I'd experienced, I asked why so many boiler suits had no insignia and what was going on; piss off, accompanied by a shove was my only answer. The Police felt untouchable and beyond reproach after the things they got away with during the miners strike; so much for Policing by consent, now it was enforcing government policy by any means.

We were now being herded back along the A303, eastwards; when another group split off, this time trying to get away, back towards Amesbury; my friends were in that splinter group, though I wasn't; which in the days before mobile phones was a pain. The rest of us continued to be herded along the A303. Then I saw some folk eying the embankment of Vespasian's Camp, an Iron Age Hillfort, as a possible escape route, and thought, yes, I'm up for that. Moments later they were off up the hillside, me with them and with the Police in close pursuit. I made it to the fence and scrabbled across it, a guy next to me wasn't so lucky and was pulled back by the long arm of the law.  Once beyond the fence people split up and dashed off through the dense chest high stinging nettle filled woodland, I too just kept running; after a while I turned to see if anybody was following me and promptly fell face down into the afore mentioned nettles; it was a hot day and I was bare to the waist and now stung on every piece of exposed skin. I stumbled off through the woodland, a bit worse for wears, dehydrated from the scorching sun and stung to buggery; though my opportune dash had paid off as I soon met up with my friends again.  At this point there was nothing more to be done here, the Police were disbanding any and all groups they came across; they were eager for us to go, we didn't know what was to transpire later and why they so wanted us dispersed; now we know they had more important fish to fry and a job to finish; no wonder they were out of control, they'd got a taste for it.

Well, that's how I remember that day, a skirmish fought prior to the events of the beanfeild, a long forgotten foot note on the day; we were merely a hors d'oeuvres to the main event, the real battle was against travellers who were certainly the nucleus of the free festival circuit and a burgeoning alternative way of life which obviously the state saw as a threat; that day their right to their alternative way of life was stolen from them and their homes destroyed. The government, through the Police, managed to achieve multiple objectives in that one operation: they destroyed a way of life which posed an alternative to living in the decaying inner city squaller which was developing through government policies, the government saw alternatives to their narrative an increasing a threat; the government got to built the foundation of  their later draconian criminal justice laws and they appropriated the free festival culture in order to replaced it with the hugely profitable and homogenized mainstream pay festival scene we see today; the argument they used to stop free festivals of criminality and drugs is redundant, as corporate backed festivals see considerably more of both, the only difference is the corporate few get to profit and the masses of socially disenfranchised are left with nothing and no opportunity to live or enjoy much outside of our pay for everything, nothing for free culture. It was a fucking disgrace then and remains so 30 years on, the effects of that day still reverberate through to today. Things were never to be the same again.