Archdruid Rollo

Stalwart of Druidism, Archdruid of Stonehenge Rollo Maughfling presides over this mornings Equinox ceremony; he presided over the first druid ceremony I attended way back in 1988. Nice chap. 

Autumn Equinox Stonehemge

It's only when you escape the light pollution of suburbia that you're reminded just how beautiful a clear night sky can be. Over Salisbury Plain the night sky was black as tar, the universe spread out across it, countless stars shining radiantly. On the cusp of change a bright shooting star streaks across Fargo Wood, and as I approached the stones so did dawn. While the sun had begun its' transit in the east, clouds neared from the west, the combination creating a spectacular backdrop of colour and texture for those assembled at Stonehenge for the Equinox. Amongst the stones druids performed their rites, while others perform rhythmic drumming or chanting, others simply sit or stand in contemplation, waiting; eventually the sun does appear, greeted by collective whoops and cheers. It had been too long since I'd seen in a Solstice or Equinox at Stonehenge, and amongst the stones it really felt like coming home. Altogether a perfect Equinox morning. Equinox Blessings /|\

Nik Turner; Stonehenge 1984

I don't normally comment here on a musician's death, though I'm going to make an exception; today I heard of Nik Turner's passing at 82. Nik Turner, space rocker extraordinaire, vocalist, sax player, and flautist of such influential bands as Hawkwind, Hawklords, Sphynx, Inner City Unit, Space Ritual, with more solo projects, quest appearances and collaborations than you could shake a stick at. I first saw Nik Turner perform with Hawkwind on the 'main' stage at Stonehenge Free Festival in 1984. By the early 80's I'd become what would've been colloquially described as a 'hippy'. I'd seen festival legends the Here and Now band in the autumn of 83', and they'd knocked on a door for me, though it was at  Stonehenge 84' that that door was kicked wide open. Without doubt Stonehenge 84' was one of the most influential, life shaping events of my youth; Hawkwind and Nik Turner's performances were foundational in that period of personal, creative and spiritual evolution. As you'd imagine, there were a variety of drugs available at free festivals, and it would've been rude not to indulge, so to be honest a lot of the bands and events of that week remain more as feelings than definable memories, not Hawkwind though, my memory of them endures. I remember the music and the atmosphere of their performance, though it's Nik Turner and his dancers that are seared into my memory most vividly; Turner dressed in a full body white leotard, white face with broad black band across his eyes and a forelock of orange hair protruding from what looked like a skateboard helmet, a striking figure; whilst the dancers cavorted in white dresses with white faces and blacken eyes. I'd say the music, atmosphere, and drugs combined to create a heady almost magical ritual environment that night; as night gave way to day and the sky lightened Hawkwind performed a second 'dawn set', continuing the magic. I remember listening to their improvised tripped out psychedelic set as I watched, in an altered state, the Druids gathering amongst the ancient stones to welcome the solstice sunrise; for me a spell was cast. I returned from the Stonehenge festival changed; my horizons broadened, with new paths and worlds to explore; drawing, archaeology, druidry/paganism, all things I cherish now grew from seeds sown then. That was the last free festival allowed at Stonehenge, and I feel truly blessed to have been able to experience it. So, thank you Nik Turner for your part in my transformation, thank you for the music I still enjoy today which connects me to my past; may your ancestors welcome you in the Summerlands, and let your song raise the rafters of their great halls. Hail and farewell.  

1st of June 1985

Photo ukrockfestivals.com

Thirty five years ago today saw the Battle of the Beanfield, a dark day in Britain's policing history, when a convoy of peaceful travellers and festival folk known as the 'Peace Convoy' suffered a brutal unprovoked attack, subsequent arrest, with many of their homes destroyed by the police as they made their way to the Stonehenge Free Festival site. I wasn't at the Beanfield, though some friends and I were near Stonehenge that day. In brief, in 1985 the annual Stonehenge Free Festival (which in 1984, for me, had been a life changing experience), was banned by the government who defined it as lawless and criminal, this ban was to be enforced viciously by the police. Obviously, those who organized the festival and those attended it had other ideas, and the die was cast for a confrontation in the Wiltshire countryside, the allotted date, the first of June 1985. It was to be a long and memorable day, culminating in an event no one could have imagined, though today I'm focusing on  just one element of it, about an hour and a half of the afternoon, near Stonehenge. 

Weather wise it was day much like today, hot, sunny, airless. Whilst the Convoy made it's way from Savernake, several hundred peaceful proponents of the free festival found themselves corralled by the police on the A303 and half a mile from Stonehenge, on the ridge where the New Kings Barrows are.  It wasn't long before the group decided to flank the police road blocks, leave the road and make for the festival site cross country through the summer fields. There was no sense of what was to come as we reached the field adjacent to the festival stage field.  There were only a handful of police, heavily out numbered by protesters, forming a line between the two fields. We didn't want any conflict and so sat down and chilled in the sun, the mood was upbeat, smiles all round; the line of police were all smiles too, though in hindsight there's might have been more sinister knowing smiles. On the horizon you could see the ancient stones silhouetted against the blue sky. We'd held the field for no time when a column of vans raced along the A360 alongside the stones, this obviously got our attention, especially when we saw the occupants disembark. It was the police, or was it, some were definitely police, though there has long been suspicion that others, possibly military, were involved too, as few had insignia or proper uniform, just boiler suits, some with shields and most with batons.  Naively expecting a stand off situation followed by a negotiation, some of us formed ranks, linking arms in preparation to hold our captured ground. Still, the mood was peaceful. That was all about to change.  The boiler suited mass moved slowly down the slope through the field, though not to reinforce the police line as we'd imagined, they moved directly towards us. As they neared they picked up speed and raised their batons, there was to be no stand off, no discussion, and with no advanced warning or justification they charged into us flailing their batons wildly. It would be fair to say, it was a a bit of a surprise, chaos ensued and any resolve to hold our ground soon withered under their assault. We were quickly forced back up on to the A303, all the time the police lashing out indiscriminately, kicking, pushing and striking with batons, no one was spared, they were out of control. I saw people battered and bloodied, all ages, both sexes, I actually saw a pregnant woman bleeding from her head. It was shocking, I'd never seen people acting like this. At one point back on the A303 I slowed to light up a cigarette and was immediately struck by a succession of baton blows to my sides, 4 or 5 maybe, I crumpled, prepared for more, when a guy shouted 'leave him alone', I turned to see a chap coming to my defence. Of course, he was battered too, before the 'officers' moved on to others. Angry, I approached a senior officer (an inspector), who just told me to 'piss off' and I was forcibly moved on. so I wandered on, hoping to see someone I knew in the chaos. Then right in front of me a man was knocked out of his wheelchair by marauding boiler suited 'officers' (they were merely thugs really), they subsequently beat the folk trying to help the guy up. Thugs, man, nothing more, it's not hard to beat up peaceful 'hippies' in retreat. Then an incensed uniformed police sergeant rushed over, and as I remember it, he physically picked up and threw the 2 thugs doing the beating behind him, yelling at them to fuck off behind the police lines, he then immediately reached in helping get the wheelchair guy up and check him and the others were okay, he apologised and then disappeared back into the fray. This all happened just a couple of hours before the same police/military attacked the Convoy, I've always thought we were their hors d'oeuvre, and the Beanfield their main course, when many of them gorged on violence like pigs.

I was reminded of that particular event today watching the horrible news coming out of America of the public murder of a man by the police, watching vile police/military thugs using legalised violence to attack innocence with impunity. Though I also saw others wearing the same uniforms posting messages, being filmed, decrying the actions of those thugs, and behaving with decency and honour. That day in '85 could've seen me hating the police full stop, and if it wasn't for the actions of that sergeant I surely would have. Division and polarization, the 'them and us' or 'other' narrative, is a key weapon currently being deployed by right wing populists leaders....they've long used it as it's so very effective. Fed the right diet it's an easy route for folk to take (any folk, from whatever perspective), especially with provocation or reinforced through experience or media driven perception, though we mustn't be drawn in to those mental cul-de-sacs. Experience tells us that there are good and bad individuals in most groups or organizations, and if we lose sight of that, we'll have already handed our enemies victory. The good from all quarters must coalesce.

A 'unessesaryily' long and winding road

It's an important day, so I'm up at 0500 this morning, it's the winter solstice. Every winter solstice I go somewhere to mark the occasion, I say 'somewhere', for 20 years there'd be only one place I'd be and that was at the 'Henge', though disgruntled with this and that, for the last few years I've sought over places to mark the new sun. Today though I felt compelled to return to Stonehenge to celebrate. We used to park on the nearby drove or a ways off and walk, though Wiltshire Council/English Heritage have put Temporarily Traffic Restricts on several of the rights of way in affect closing them to all vehicles, pedestrians and equestrians. So with my options limited, I reluctantly decided I had little choice other than the visitor centre car park. Reluctantly, as I take affront at having to pay, effectively, pay to pray. Anyway. The roads where clear as I drove through a moonlit landscape, English Heritage's open access notice had said the car parks wouldn't be open until 0600, and not to get there before. It was 0610 when approached 'Druid's Lodge' roundabout, and with only half a mile to the visitors centre I thought I was good for time. That feeling quickly evaporated as I saw the traffic chaos at the roundabout, the bumper to bumper headlights led off into the distance along the A303, and everything from every direction was stationary.  All the approaches to the visitor centre were gridlocked. By 0700 I was approaching the the visitor centre car park, still plenty of time to walk the mile or so to the stones. No, I was directed on to the overflow car park and park and ride. Now ahead of me was an endless cue of tail lights. What a massive bummer, man. Time to sunrise shortened. By the time I reached the overflow car park the full sign was up, and bizarrely, we were directed back to the main car park. It was too late anyway, it was 0740, and even if I'd got a parking space, which is a mahousive if, I'd never have made the stones. What an omni-shambles, though it didn't have to be so. For years we've used the droves, there's something quite magical about spending the night around a fire on the drove, so near to the ritual site, something timeless, as those who built the site would have done. It worked too, people arrived at staggered times, people could walk, more than that a community formed which congregated at the allotted times, meeting, feasting, drinking, partying, as we know was the case during the sites construction and use. The archaeologist in me loves that continuity, though EH doesn't and works hard at making it as difficult as possible, part of a cynical move to deny any access the landscape other than through their expensive controlled route. As it happens, the Temporarily Traffic Restricts had been quashed on the 21st of December, though the prohibitions had not been lifted, so we'll see what happens at the Spring Equinox.  Anyway, as I said, it was 0740 by now and I turned for home, I stopped briefly near Woodhenge to asked some coppers if they'd pass on complaints, they said they would, they weren't happy with the chaos either, and nodded in wry agreement with my cynical opinions on EH's motivations. Then I made my way to Old Sarum, and climbed the ancient ramparts to greet the new born sun. I was disappointed, though consoled myself it that it wasn't getting to the henge which was important, more the intention, that I'd got up and travelled, marked the day, observed the sunrise. The henge would have been a bonus. Spring Equinox it is then, an overnighter, weather (and droves open) permitting. 

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.