Reminiscing

Thinking of Gong at Totnes reminded me of the time we saw Gong at Beautiful Days back in 2009 (we saw Gong twice that year [the other time was in Exeter in November] each time with a slightly different line up), or more specifically, iI was reminded of an event in the crowd. The crowd grew in size and anticipation as we waited for Gong to take to the stage, amongst the crowd there were a group of what I'd describe as classic 'brew crew' characters, they were dressed as you'd expect, almost as if in uniform, they had a sack truck of Special Brew, they were being loud, obnoxious and intimidating, throwing their empties carelessly over their shoulders in the crowd and such like. The were putting on quite a show. My kids were fascinated, most of the kids watching were fascinated, whilst many of their parents, many of which looked like they'd never come across people like this before were naturally horrified and intimidated. Beautiful Days is a weird festival, it's family friendly and mainstream, whilst simultaneously having alternative almost a free festy-ish feel. As I say the 'brew crews' antics were all a show, when challenged for their behaviour the group apologized politely and continued their drinking less boisterously. All was good. Of course, they still were the focus of attention as they deteriorated in front of us. Increasingly the worse for wear, one of their number eventually succumbed to Special Brew and gravity, and crumpled to ground. His compadres looked on with genuine concern. At which point one of them, maybe the groups physician, approached the sprawled fellow, checked him out and mumbled sympathetic words, where upon, with a little encouragement, the collapsed fellow managed to get on to all fours.  The concerned fellow now reached into his pocket and produced a paper wrap, which he carefully unfolded. I knew what was coming next and looking around me at the horrified faces of other parents, so did others. Fuck I thought, how will explain this to the kids. With the wrap carefully unfolded, the guy proceeded to gently dab white power into the collapsed fellows mouth, once, twice, oh go on, one more, and then, excelsior! Slowly, like the opening scenes of 2001 the formally collapsed fellow resumed a bipedal posture, to approval of his group and was passed another can. As I say, all of this was done in front of a mixed crowd of all ages, many adults looking on in dismay.  I'd seem my kids, like many others, watching fascinated. I told them the truth, what else can you do. You know, what struck me was how caring, gentle and loving the whole dysfunctional scene was. All mobile again the group moved off, disappearing through the crowd. I'm certain I saw one of the fellows, the one with the wrap, in a Glastonbury pub several years later, and he was a very nice, if not messy, chap. Anyway, of course Gong were fantastic. I'd seen Gong several times over the years in one form or another though never including Steve Hillage and Miquitte Giraudy. I was also excited for my children to see such a legendary band, a band they'd heard many times at home. Funny how your mind wanders through the tunnels of time.

wasps

Some brave, desperate or stupid woodland mammal has dug down and raided this wasp nest in Burley Old enclosure. I wasn't aware it was wasps until I got quite close, at which point I took my photo, withdrawing quickly and stealthily.  Me and wasps have history. I was okay with wasps until I had a free paper round in my teens and thought it would be a good idea, as you do when you're a lazy good for nothing teen, to dump my papers rather than delivering them. I was mistaken, it wasn't a good idea and karma struck instantly. My discarded bundle of papers hit a wasps nest, and they were pissed off; I was covered in strings, my arm, hands and face where stings upon stings. Ever since then even a single wasp sting will make me swell; some years back I got stung on the wrist and by morning my fingers had swollen like fat sausages as had my lower arm; I didn't like that. Hence my deft retreat today.

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.