Hidden past

Hidden amongst the trees on the hillside overlooking the former Ibsley Airfield is an interesting second world war archaeological feature, a Battlefield Head Quarters. Battlefield Head Quarters were a common feature of wartime airfields, they would've been used as a command position if the airfield were attacked and required recapturing. This particular example is surrounded by trench works and circular concrete machine gun positions. Although common on wartime airfields, Battlefield Head Quarters are rare features compared to other monuments of the period, many have been destroyed since the war. When constructed the site would've had a commanding view over the airfield and its environs, through the subsequent years trees have grown up to obscure the views and have created a secluded aspect to the site. In its form and situation in woodland, it reminds me somewhat of the Second World War defences constructed by the Germans. The underground communication rooms and observation cupolas are accessible, though a torch is required. Sadly it's a bit neglected and has been misused by youth. I say misused by youth, don't misunderstand me, I'm all for the continuing use of sites, it keeps them alive, raves, parties, camping, are all cool, although respect needs to be shown and appreciation for the sites age and fragility need to be considered. And, clean the fuck up! I know, I'm expecting too much from the youth. A quick look back at my own youth brings that into sharp focus.

Cow Parsley

The green lanes which bisect the Chase are currently bordered by thick swathes of Cow Parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris).  A beautiful sight. On the whole I'm cautious when it comes to umbellifers, so many and so easily confused, many of which are poisonous, the most notable and most dangerous example being Hemlock (Conium maculatum), the poison given to Socrates. I do love the flowers of Cow Parsley though.

Greater Stitchwort

Greater Stitchwort (Stellaria holostea)

In a green Cathedral

We'd been walking along the narrow woodland tracks which snake through Verditch, all overhung by overgrown Hazel coppice and slowly disappearing under summers verdance for some time, when all of a sudden we emerged into an entirely different space.  A huge space. As I stood, temporarily overwhelmed by the majesty of the place, the first thing which popped into my mind was, why people ever built temples. It seems so counter-intuitive to me stood here. Most faiths believe in some form of omni-potent creator, take Christianity (it could be many others).  Christians believe their God made the world and everything on it, so why would they remove themselves from his creation when they choose to pray? Why did they build temples, when all about them is sacred. Looking around the space I was in, this was a natural cathedral. What better place to commune with your creator(s) or however you may see it.  For me, I see natural divinity all about me when I'm out, in every flower or tree, the birds, the animals, the hills and streams, in the very land itself. Whether out in the woods, or over the hills or coast, I feel, no, I know, I'm in scared space. Every walk I take is an observance, filled with little rituals, transactions and greetings. Every walk is an opportunity to immerse myself in creation, to heal, to drink again from the overflowing cup of natures inspiration, and to return to the madness of our existence, renewed. Nothing I, or anyone, could build, no matter how cool or groovy it may be, could ever eclipse the manifest beauty of natures myriad aspects, nor the feelings derived from immersion in them. 

Woodland canopy

The wondrous woodland canopy.

Os Noctambulos @ The Anvil, Bournemouth

A friend, who knows his music, had said I must get along to see Os Noctambulos as they were a nice bunch who played some blinding garage psych. Os Noctambulos are: Baldo on drums who provided some solid beats, Baldo was also part of a comedy moment when he discovered his monitor wasn't plugged in (you had to be there), the other half of the rhythm section is Coline Presley on bass, the anchor which kept the guitarists on either side her from blowing off into space, Coline's bass was right on the money, eyes closed for much of the gig as it appeared she felt the music as much as played it.  Now those guitars: on lead guitar is Valentin Buchens, who must have steel fingers because he shredded that guitar with a passion, and on vocals and guitar is Nick Wheeldon. Talking to Nick before the gig he appears so quiet and mellow (a nice fellow) but put him behind the mic and Nick transforms, belting out lyrics and some fine guitar. Together they bash out some mighty fine garage psych which has a real retro feel and sound to it whilst simultaneously being of the moment. The tracks are short and sweet which enhanced that retro feel. I really like them. I feel the Anvil with its low ceiling and basement are the perfect venue for a band of this type. It was a good call on my friends part, Os Noctambulos were certainly a band worth seeing. 

Check them out:

https://osnoctambulos.bandcamp.com/album/corsica-garden

Ouzo Bazooka @ The Anvil, Bournemouth

I'll just say from the start, wow! From the moment Ouzo Bazooka began to play and I heard Dani Ever HaDani hit the keys, I knew I was going to love Ouzo Bazooka. I wasn't wrong. Ouzo Bazooka are a four piece out of Tel Aviv who describe themselves as Mediterranean psych rock, I'll just describe them as bloody marvellous. Actually their description is apt, the markers of psych and rock are all definitely present, but also a very distinctive cultural signature which marks their psychedelic sound out as unique. Ouzo Bazooka are: Uri Kinrot on lead vocals and guitar who makes a great front man, Adam Schefflan on bass who delivers some stirling bass work, as does Ira Raviv on drums, who looked tripped out by the whole thing, and Dani Ever HaDani on keyboards, I really loved Dani's keyboard sounds. They're all great musicians. Every track was a perfect package of psych bundled up in a original way, with each track delivered via a clean tight sound. Many of the tracks were from their latest album 'Simoom' (of which I picked up a copy at the gig) which is pure bliss and has been played several times already. My only complaint is that 'Simoom' doesn't properly convey the energy of the band as I experienced them live. Though that's a regular complaint of mine, I do love the energy of live music. I will certainly get out to see them again if they're playing in these parts. Ouzo Bazooka, a really pleasant find, loved them.

Check them out:
https://ouzobazooka.bandcamp.com/

The Acid Valley Nomads @ The Anvil, Bournemouth

It's really awful to say, but too many times over the years I've either missed or ignored the support bands at gigs, I did say it was awful. Though this evening through a fluke of fate or maybe technical problems, I'm not sure, the bands were all running a bit late, as a consequence I got to see them all. And that's no bad thing as I got to see local band with loads of potential, The Acid Valley Nomads.  A five piece comprising of: Nastradoomus Nasos K (Vox/Guitar) Renniks (Bass) Fantastic Mr. Furr (Guitar) Bones Jones (Drums) Reverend Brother Raymond Ray aka the Pastor of Disastor (Keys). They belted out a succession of short, fast paced garage psych numbers which just oozed punk. I don't know how long they've been going, but they had a great sound and if their songs were anything to go by plenty of talent. They all looked like they were enjoying themselves (always good), especially Renniks who had the broadest cheeky grim you could imagine.  A friend pointed out that two of the band members father was in the audience, so I had pop over and tell him what talented sons he had and how much I'd enjoyed their set. Stupid really, I'm sure he already knew his sons had talent and he too had just watched their set so knew how good it was. Still. I was well impressed and shall certainly keep my out for them playing locally. I hope they get on, great performance, great songs, if they can do this so early in their musical career they deserve to! And to think I could have missed them, more fool me. 

Check them out.

https://soundcloud.com/acidvalleynomads

The Cary Grace Band @ The king Arthur 21.5.2016

I'd been look forward to seeing Cary Grace since hearing a promotional copy of her fantastic album 'Tygerland' some time back. So when I saw she was playing at one of my favourite venues, The King Arthur in Glastonbury, I, along with a couple of chums, jumped at the opportunity. We'd arrived hours ahead of the gig to ensure we got in, well, you can never be too careful. The King Arthur (as I've mentioned before) is real treat, great staff, lovely friendly locals, a great venue all round; you're always guaranteed a top night, just as you're always guaranteed an interesting conversation from one or more of the local characters. Tonight that character was Paul, a really nice chap, very funny, with plenty of interesting things to say. I love meeting nice interesting people, and Paul was certainly one. As has happened before at a Glastonbury gig (and I kid you not), for some unfathomable reason we were mistaken for members of the band, with Paul asking us several times 'are you sure you're not with the band'? Paul even got us to sign one of the free (amazingly good quality) gig posters, (I signed with the additional written caveat that I was not in the band) before bothering the actual band to sign it too. What must they have thought? Who are these other chancers who've signed this, probably.  Well, enough to say that the Arthur (as I understand locals call it) was, as always, a treat. So I'll say no more, check it out for yourselves one time. 

Now, as for the gig. Well, blimey! It turned out to be a gig of 2 sets; this has been a feature of a few gigs I've been to in recent years, Sentient, Magic Bus, Gothic Chicken, and I dig it. The anticipation and excitement I'd felt were not misplaced, as from the get go the performance was flawless, with every band member right on the numbers.  On the keyboard Victoria Reyes played some amazing keys, I have a particular fondness for keyboards and she really delivered. Victoria has a lovely voice too, when she joined with Cary on the harmonies, well, far out. Bass was provided by Andy Budge, who seemed to be having a whale of a time, whilst laying down some rich blistering bass, he really belted it out, good style. Although the evenings award for belting it out must go to David Payne on drums, man, did he give that drum kit a beating, particularly in the second set where he really let rip. Respect, that's got to be punishing. Guitar in the first set was delivered by Owain Hutchings and John Garden, both superbly proficient in their art, who with an understated presence (particularly John Garden who played from the shadows at the back, in ghostly fashion) brought some blissful noddling to the party. These really are some great musicians, who together created a nice tight musical sound-scape. As for Cary herself, she appeared intense and super focused as she studiously twiddled with knobs and pushed this and that on her analogue synth, (I love that sound, man). Carys lyrics are wonderfully poetic and she delivered them masterfully; Carys voice, man, so clean, and what a range, she really hits those notes. I found her whole performance truly mesmerizing. Between tracks her intenseness softened, replaced by smiles, which was nice to see.  It's always nice to see artists having a good time, and all the band appeared to be having a ball.

For the second set the band were joined by legendary guitarist Steffe Sharpstrings. The first set had been mainly tracks off Carys various albums (all good), and they were all fantastic, though I particularly loved 'Cyanide' off Tygerland and 'The Scarab' off Perpetual Motion, both marvellous tracks. I didn't recognize the tracks (other than the final couple which were nice covers) of the second set.  The second set was a far more jammy affair, with all of the band really letting go and taking the audience on a musical odyssey, blooming lovely!  As I said, David Payne fair beat the crap out of the drums through most of the second set, and along with Andy Budge created some fantastically solid baselines. Cary went to town on her analogue synth and other twiddly things (yeah, I'm sure they've got names, but I don't know them) conjuring up some strange and wonderful musical textures, whilst in parts her voice took on the role of an additional instrument, beautiful. John Garden continued to noodle exquisitely from the shadows, throughout both sets he appeared a quiet studious fellow. Then there was Steffe, you know when steffe plays it'll be top shelf, and of course it was. Steffe let flow with a stream of magical noodling laced with melting glissando (along with some great faces as he was taken by the music) and your jaw drops, transfixed, you're enveloped by the music. Together, they were far f*cking out! Victoria and Owain, who'd not been on stage, rejoined the band for the last 2 tracks (the covers), both of which were great and original interpretations. The whole ensemble looked blissed out, I know the audience certainly were.  Really, really, great stuff!

Then all too soon it was over, though the smiles on everyone’s faces remained, as will the memories of a top nights music performed by great musicians. A big thank you to you all!  I noticed some musical luminaries in the house this evening too, Mark Robson, Joie Hinton and Andy Roger all enjoying the performance. Oh, and I must give a big up to whoever was on sound, nice job! I've been to few gigs now at the King Arthur and they do seem to get the sound spot on, which is nice.

I can't wait to see Cary Grace again (probably at Kozfest). Check her out, she's very talented and creates music in a variety of styles, though all with her distinct signature.
https://play.spotify.com/artist/6Y79KJfUUd74tDD3wtnsAs 

Baby helicopters

If you take the time to really look, everyday can bring you something new. I walk most days, and think that I'm fairly observant. But of course, I give myself far too much credit and nature very kindly brings me back to reality, letting me know that no matter what I may think, I only really see a fraction of what is there to be seen. Or rather I may see, but I don't necessarily register what I'm seeing. Todays natural reminder were these Sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus) flowers and developing 'helicopter' seeds. Yeah, of course I've seen the helicopter seeds of the Sycamore before, loads of times, but have only ever noticed them fully formed, brown and hanging in clusters. Never do I remember noticing the flowers, or how the seeds developed from them.  So this was something new for me. A little thing I know, but as Here and Now once wrote 'it's the little things' and I'm easily filled with a sense of wonder where nature is concerned. Well, who isn't.

Highland Spring

No, not those Highlands. Highland Water, a head water of the Lymington River which runs through the mature stands of the New Forest woodland. At any time of the year it's a walk I'd recommend, though in Spring and Autumn the area is particularly stunning. Now? Well, the verdance of the burgeoning forest flora, creating as it does new spaces and vistas, is wholly absorbing, to which the babbling stream adds its gentle music. Bliss, man.

Millwall!

Millwall graffiti! Clumsily carved, right out here on a tree amongst a small copse in the arse end of rural Wiltshire? Ah, the tribal mentality, one of the many things I don't like about football culture, don't misunderstand me, a kick about is great, it's just all the unnecessary bullshit that goes along with it, the exploitation, the excess, the violence. Do you know, true story, I once asked someone I knew what the score was from the match they had only just attended and they said 'I don't know, we were too busy fighting' and then proceeded to tell enthusiastically of various scrapes. What's all that about! As I've mentioned before in regards to graffiti, there's always a story, though I'll never know it. So, sometimes to amuse myself I just make one up.  I reckon like that 70's film 'The Warriors', a gang of Millwall supporters were left at an away match, far from their home 'turf' they battle their way home through hostile territory 'tagging' their name as they go, and that's what probably happened here. Or less fancifully, a young local fan carved it. Either way, meh!

Stag tree

This time of year, with the trees in near full leaf, the gnarled bough antlers of the forests stag trees are easily spotted. Their stark silhouettes reaching in vain to catch the life giving rays of the sun.  Although it appears done for, battered, and in its third trimester of life, this ancient Oak will still have years of presence in the forest yet.

Wood Chicken

I was thinking that it was about this time last year that I came across the first Chicken of the Woods, and boom, an old Oak laden with them. All in all there were 9 clumps spread up the ancient trunk and bough. The seasons really are moving on, it's easy with our erratic and confused weather to forget where you are. Next time out this way I'll remember to come equipped for collecting.

May blossom Beltaine

Some Druids and Pagans celebrate Beltaine when the first blossoms appear on their local trees rather than the set date of May first.  Using the thorn flowering as the measure, then, Beltaine has arrived in these parts.

Chettle Head Ramsons

Chettle Head Copse is carpeted with Ramsons as the last cohorts of their kind for this season burst into flower. Their presence in such large numbers makes for a fragrant and visually stunning walk. But there's more. Amongst the last flowers I spy some unopened flower buds remain for the picking, making it a triple sense experience, you smell them first, then you see them and finally you can taste them. Nice one Mother nature.

Green

''The place is rustling with birds; every tree is budding, and everything that grows is bursting with life. A Holly bush or a tree trunk looks almost black against the pale new leafs.'' wrote Sir Fredrick Treves in his 1906 book 'Highways and Byways in Dorest, when describing the woodland of Cranborne Chase.  And so it was today, 110 years later. Though, I imagine Sir Fredrick would hardly recognise the Chase now, even then a shadow of its former self, now though just fragments of what once was a vast wild woodland landscape remain.  The industrialization of farming and the needs of two world wars did for that landscape.  Still, I cherish what's left, and see it clearly for the natural treasure that it is.

Roamin snail

One of Martin Downs roaming Roman snails. This one appeared to be marked with black paint, maybe as part of some wildlife research project. 

Song Thrush egg

A Song Thrush (Turdus philomelos) egg. Still a common, and beautifully vocal, visitor to these parts, although I recently read that though still common across most of Europe (a population numbering around 60 million or so) their numbers have decreased here in the UK by 50% since the middle of last century. How typical for Britain.

Camel Green / Highland Water day 2

So lovely was yesterdays walk through Camel Green that I decided to take it again, and some. I'd been to a party last night and had had a really good time, and today everything appeared at little bit shinier as if sprinkled with a kind of magic only good times can bestow. The sun was radiant and intense, too intense I thought for this time of the year, although any worrying  thoughts were soon crowded out by all the stimulating sights, sounds and smells the forest had to offer. Wherever you looked nature was doing her thing. Deer shaded themselves by the babbling stream, a pair of ducks came for a splash landing nearby, whilst throughout the stands ponies chomped on the fresh green shoots of spring. I heard a rustle in the leaf litter close by, and on closer inspection saw a grass snake slithering its escape across the open and into safety under an ancient fallen trunk. Above, all manner of birds darted amongst the boughs and branches, their voices combining to create the spring song of the woods. Occasionally the scent of blossom could be caught on the air as you passed by the crab apple tree, now in full bloom. Today was a day to lose yourself in the magic of the woods. The leafs are really coming through now, and the woodland light is dappling, the prettiest type of lighting. A gentle and cooling breeze swayed the stands of lanky Silver birch which border Highland Water in places, their canopy and the breeze combined to make for stark contrast and welcomed relief from the intense heat of the sun and sweaty walking of the open forest. Today was made for wondrous walking, every forest player played their part to perfection. As I said, the forests' beauty really shone.

Camel Green / Highland Water

The sun was out over Camel Green as we followed the meanders of Highland Water. New meanders I might add, or rather 'restored' meanders. Looking around it's hard to imagine that this section of Highland Water was only restored to it's pre-Victorian course 3 years ago, it looks so natural. The signs of heavy machinery are all but gone, plant communities are returning and in a couple more years you'd never know that the stream ever flowed other than where it is.  The woodland which borders Highland Water is coming to life, the trees are nearly in full leaf, blossom colours the Crab Apple trees and all about there's activity seen and unseen but heard. It was a lovely walk in good company, the sort of walk which sets you up for the day.

A love of lichen

I love a bit lichen.

Ringstead

The Jurassic coast is wonderful throughout, though some places have that little bit something extra, Ringstead is one of those places. A wild landscape of overgrown landslides capped by limestone outcrops and crowned the impressive chalk headland of White Nothe. We've clambered over this landscape for many years, making our way along the pebble and boulder beach or down the steep grassy slopes into the undercliff to explore the thicket filled folds and their limestone and chalk block cappings. Over those years, those countless visits, I've seen the grassy landscape increasingly colonized by a thicket of thorn, bramble and stunted trees. Many of the rock blocks which we used to sit up on have now disappeared under a blanket of ivy. Paths on the undercliff we used to use are now increasingly impassible, not surprising really, we tended and still tend to walk the paths less trodden, yeah, and when I say 'paths' I really mean animal tracks. I'm not complaining, mind. I like the 'off road' way and to see nature retaking her land. The sun really beat down today as I slipped down the slope from the cliff top, questioning how sensible I was being, but still continuing. Down in the folds of the undercliff, where the breeze couldn't touch you, it really hotted up, lizards sunned themselves and scampered off as I approached, surprised deer raised their heads, alarmed to see me, whereas a basking Adder alarmed me as I moved through the clumps of grass, making me jump. I was in their world now.  After a long sweaty struggle, a bit of clambering and several bramble scratches I'd navigated the slides and reached the beach, where a cool and refreshing breeze made for welcome relief.  I thought about a swim, then thought better of it, too early in the season. I sat and chilled for a while, taking in the views, particularly White Nothe high above me and the winding smugglers path which snakes up to its summit. There was no alternative, no putting it off, that was the path I'd be taking.  If you know the path in question, you know it's a bit of a beast. Starting off gradually, it undulates as you traverse the folds in the undercliff before it rapidly pitches upwards, a thin path zigging and zagging. A one particularly scary section you look down a smooth very steep grassy slope which end abruptly with cliff; I don't like that section, not one bit. Folklore has it that smugglers used to negotiate this treacherous path with a barrel of Brandy or similar on each shoulder. Mental! Finally the summit was upon me and I was afforded spectacular views in both directions along the coast. Man, I feel so lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I sat for some time taking it all in, well, to be honest I sat for some time taking in the views and then fell asleep in the sun for a while. All good.  After such an exhilarating walk (and the power nap) the 3 miles or so back along the ridge to Daggers Gate flew by, I was buzzing, man. A top walk in an outstanding location.

Dusk chorus

As we walked this evening at sunset the last rays of the sun imbued the commons birch trees with a golden hue, beautifully framed against the blue sky. I stopped to soak up the spectacle, and was transported by the bird song. You hear the term 'dawn chorus' a lot, but not so the dusk chorus, I don't know if that's even a thing.  But as I stood there listening, and my ears became more attuned to the birds, the depth of sound and song was amazing. So many birds singing, so many different songs, if you allow it to it will fill your senses. Yeah, you register birds singing as you walk, though it's not until you stop and focus that you really begin to hear how many different birds are singing and how many different songs are being sung, a magnificent natural orchestra playing the greatest of compositions every evening, and just like the sunset, it's free, another one of natures gifts.   

Apple blossom

Over the common there a few scattered apple trees, long neglected and in one case much abused by some dog walker who encourages their dog to maul the lower branches (something that bemuses me, what with the apple tree being a source of free food, and of course angers me due to the pointlessness vandalism of something beautiful), these trees hold a special place for me.  Over the years I've cleared them of brambles, pruned dead or diseased branches, and of course benefited from their fruits. As well as a source of seasonal free food (there are two or three varieties, all eaters), they represent a visual indication of seasonal change, and I check in with them every day as I walk. Today the first blossoms were properly emerging, so I can confirm, spring is here.

Ebbor

I had planned to go onto Dartmoor after sunrise on the Tor, but the weather prophets prophesied bad weather for those parts, and the clouds who mustered out to the west supported their claims. And, so I find myself at Ebbor Gorge. Not that I'm complaining, Ebbor Gorge is a lovely spot, and where I'd usually go after celebrations on the Tor.  For the first part of walk around the gorge edge up onto the high ground I was distracted by the puncture I'd got (which turned out to be a real pisser, and which took me a real age to change), although after I'd put that out of my mind I began to immerse myself in the lush surroundings of the early morning gorge.  The air was morning fresh, all but for the occasional soft whiff of distant smoke, from up here I could see a small plume rising from somewhere in the wooded gorge.  Out over the still bare tree tops I could see across the levels to the tor where I'd watch the sun rise earlier, and what a view.  I stand peeling back time in my mind, trying to imagine what this landscape looked like before the levels were drained, back in prehistory, a vast wetland of open waters, reed beds and the periodic island, of which Glastonbury is the most striking.  You can imagine the Tor would have always have been held in high regard, held in some spiritual significance, it's easy to understand why.  It's a quiet morning in the gorge, the night life is just retiring, whilst the day shift just stirring. There is a sound though,  periodically I could hear music, the repetitive beats dance music, you know, the morning after mellow dance beats. I imagine it's coming from the same place as the smoke. 

I realize I've stood here for quite a while now, lost in thought, my imagination in flight and it's time to move on, head down into the wooded gorge.  Down a rocky pathway I descended through dells of blue and white, carpets of bluebells are complimented by swathes of ramson and wood anemone. 

The gorge is cool, damp and still quite dark, moss and lichen clings to the low hanging branches, moss covers both the trunks and the rocks, making it appear as if they're being consumed by green. It's very similar to the pockets of temperate rainforest you find on the moorland valleys or further west in Devon and Cornwall. Lovely. I continue my descent, going deeper into the gorge, as I do so the smell of smoke gets stronger and the music louder. I've reached the bottom, the ground is more open here, as is the woodland, it's home to some noble trees. I come to a large-ish clearing shaded by mighty trees and with a small brook running along one side, and the source of the smoke and music.  Scattered around the clearing are small groups of folk, one group around the remains of the dying fire, all enjoying the sounds coming from a nice sound system. The remnants of a free party, nice. It's an age since I've attended a free outdoor party, I'm envious, this looks like it was a good one too. What a spot for a party! The folk are friendly, all smiling, constant 'good mornings' and 'how you doings' coming from all quarters. Now, I'm more envious, a good party, and nice people! I greet them all and wish them a happy Beltaine, which is unanimously reciprocated. I smile, wish them good day, wave and move on. This time moving upwards back out of the gorge.  

The path up out of Ebbor is less rocky (in places anyway), less severe and quickly I'm back out of the gorge woodland, in the open and looking out over the levels again. There's much more of Ebbor Gorge to explore, but for today my exploration is over. Another excellent and uplifting Beltaine Ebbor Gorge walk. Still envious of those cheesy quavers, mind!

Up on the Tor

As I drove through Glastonbury on my way to the base of the Tor this morning, I could see groups of people heading off to make the same climb I was about to. Traditionally I've parked at the base of the eastern side of the tor and scrambled up the steep side rather than take the longer, if less severe, path up the spine, today was to be no different. The hillside was damp and viscus, as well as being bloody steep, I passed the one remaining side of the tree that had split in half over 25 years ago, with the other falling year before last and began my scramble up the daunting slope.  I was out of breath as a reached the summit and heard the familiar voice of Rollo, Archdruid of the Glastonbury order of Druids who was to lead this mornings Beltaine ceremony. Rollo led the first Druid ceremonies I attended, and although not always thorough, and his rituals can be loose with bits often omitted, they are always done with honestly and with love.  Today the ritual was particularly loose, but with good reason, last year Donna (Rollos long time partner and an Archdruidess) died and this morning he was to spread some of her ashes. Rollo was clearly anxious. I first met Donna in the early 90's and regularly saw her at ceremonies, she was a lovely friendly person and I was saddened to hear of her passing. You'd be sure to see her atop Glastonbury Tor at Beltaine, so this mornings ceremony was particularly poignant.  

Dreow Archdruid of Avalon arrived to lend a hand, and after some initial banter between Rollo and Dreow, Dreow called for peace in the quarters, Rollo read some words, the acting Archdruidess of the order recited a poem Donna liked and her ashes were spread. It was a nice ceremony, moving, Rollo was clearly moved. Three cheers were given for Beltaine, and we waited for the guest of honour, the Sun. I know there'd been some antagonism between elements of Glastonbury Druidry in the past over titles and roles. I wasn't party to the details, other than what I'd heard bandied about, the gossip and what was written in the media, social and printed. But Dreows' support this morning was a nice gesture. Yeah, there was something there, but both men were true Druids, navigating and negotiating the situation with honour, using language and words with great skill. It was masterful druidry.  

Whilst the ceremony went on other groups and individual carried out their own observances, a group of women softy sang, three druids stood in meditation, a woman chanted, drummers drummed and guitarists strummed, dogs barked, incense wafted through the crowd and the Tor was alive with the sights, sounds and smells of interesting folk, many dressed flamboyantly for the occasion. A top morning, in good company and then the sun rose to the cheers of the assembled. 

With the ceremony over and the sun risen it was time for the Morris. The Cam Valley Morris have been performing on Glastonbury Tor at Beltaine since before I can remember, and I've been attending for 26 years! There was another Morris with them this morning whose name, regrettably,  I didn't catch. Both Morris put on a Stirling traditional performance only lightly clothed in what was the chilling cold, dancing the handed steps in patterns danced for centuries, waving their hankies and cracking their sticks. They danced for some time, in several formations, all to a fiddle and accordion. Beautiful, man. It's great to see traditional crafts practiced and brought to the public as they'd have been done more widely in the past, before we neglected and forgot our traditions. You'll have folk tell you ''it's Europes' fault or immigrants'', bollocks, we'd let our traditions fade and die long before Europe, and we've always had immigration. No, we blame others born out of our own guilt, it would be better if stopped and we learnt the old ways, what is lost could be found.  

And with Morris came the man of the moment, the green man.  What a great morning, a lovely ceremony, a beautiful sunrise and great entertainment. You couldn't wish for more. I wandered back down the hillside, past the egg stone and its accompanying brightly festooned Hawthorn trees, a big smile on my face. I enjoyed a Beltaine blessing, for sure.

Beltaine Sunrise

I look forward to seeing Beltaine morning in up on Glastonbury Tor, when the conditions are right the views out over the low mist filled Somerset levels are fantastic, and this morning was one of those mornings. So clear were the skies eastwards that they'd begun to lighten noticeably by 0430 and you could see out across he flat levels landscape for a considerable distance.  Above, the sky grew increasingly blue, as at the horizon a soft yellow orange hue took hold, and as it did the clouds, which hung fragmented to the west, were captured and coloured by the approaching sun, a mix of salmon pink and purple grey hues. There appeared a period when the sky stopped changing, as if fixed in anticipation of an action, and then a feint glow, followed by a shining golden thread...the sun was rising. I'm always struck by the speed at which the sun appears to rise. ''Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning'', that's what they say. We'll have to wait and see. The colour soon drained from the clouds as the sun rose proper and the day began in earnest. I know though, that as Bill Withers said, ''it's going to be a lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, love-ly day. Beltaine blessings y'all, may your seeds find fertile ground.