Ian Anderson, 1970 (pictures below)

“They’re celebrating the “50th anniversary of Glastonbury” on the wrong weekend, if you want to be pedantic. The first one – originally called Pilton Pop – was held on 19th September 1970 when, luckily, we were enjoying a bit of an Indian summer spell so lying on the grass in T-shirts was fine.

That might have been the extent of the luck that farmer/festival promoter Michael Eavis got that weekend. I don’t know how many ticket-buyers he was hoping for but none of the photos I have seem to show more than maybe 500.

The night before we’d been at the legendary Bristol Troubadour club celebrating the release of the first albums on what became quite a well-reputed ‘alternative folk’ label of the day, Village Thing. I’d been booked for this unknown festival, as had fellow Troubadour resident Keith Christmas. Various bods from the music press and artist friends like Al Stewart had come down from London for the Friday night, so the next day a whole gang of us – some rather the worse for wear! –  piled into vehicles and pointed ourselves south.

The only festival that we were really used to back then was Cambridge Folk Festival which had been running for a few years with multiple stages and well-organised bars and catering. Glastonbury was – well – some wobbly planks on some scaffolding in a field, with canvas covering in case it rained (luckily it didn’t). The PA was minimal, there were no monitors for the musicians (but then that was what we were used to in those days), but all was perfectly fine for a small event. The security fence in front of the stage was a few stands of wire between wooden posts: very farm like! I have no recall of the state of catering or loo facilities, so they must have been OK.

I just remember our gang lounging on the grass, like everybody else as was the hippy habit in those days, and watching whoever came on. I’m not entirely sure that those appearing on the day bore much relation to the poster. Quintessence, Amazing Blondel and Stackridge (several times, i.i.r.c.) came and went.

When it was time for my set, I did some solo things, then brought up hirsute bongo player, the late Ian Turner (aka “Heavy Drummer”) and guitarist Ian Hunt. We kept getting signals from the wings to keep going. Eventually, when we finally got the sign to finish we dragged up most of our gang – musicians, girlfriends, writers from Melody Maker and Sounds, hangers on – in a ramshackle attempt to summon up some “Woodstock Spirit” with a version of Country Joe’s Fixin’ To Die Rag.

Many years later, Al Stewart was fêted in a BBC Glastonbury broadcast for having “appeared at the first Glastonbury”: that was the extent of it, the cheeky blighter! (Re-written history now also wants to record that it was the “other” Ian Anderson from Jethro Tull who played in 1970. No it wasn’t!)

Many years later, Michael Eavis was quoted in the Guardian as saying “Marc Bolan was late arriving, and I was quite worried, but Ian Anderson saved the festival. He knew I couldn't pay him, but he played a great set that got everybody in right mood.” That was nice to know. (And I never did see Bolan – I’m not sure we stayed much further into the evening as it began to get chilly and we were knackered from the night before).

Of course we had absolutely no idea of what it would turn into over the years. And perhaps strangely, I’ve never been again since. Never was asked.”

Photos in above gallery © Jo Gedrych

Jo Gedrych, 1970 (pictures below)

“51 years on, almost, and I am not sure just how I got to be there. I was sort of semi resident photographer for Village Thing Records, along with Graham Kilsby, so I chronicled most of the things they did. I had been to Cambridge Folk Festival and Sidmouth earlier that summer and was supposed to be going to the Isle of Wight Festival, but things came up and I bailed on it, thankfully. So I volunteered transport duties to the Village Thing folks and out of habit I took a camera. I started photographing music events as a freelance alongside a main job in the mid 60s and for the most part I was often the only photographer on the scene and I built up a reputation with the music magazines, but by the summer of 70 a lot more photographers had latched onto the idea especially if there were 'A' list acts on the bill. So I concentrated on the areas less visited, the minor acts, the minor festivals, the fringe events. In 1970 Worthy Farm definitely fell into these categories.

So on a sunny afternoon I bundled a bunch of musicians and hangers on into my car and went to Shepton Mallet. I caught on camera the acts I needed to, then relaxed in the sunshine as part of the audience. But by late afternoon the word had got out and raucous elements were moving in. A local biker group descended on the place and the atmosphere changed from chilled out to edgy.  So my wife and I went home.

 In retrospect, and knowing now what it led to, I should have stayed, should have been more diligent about taking pictures, especially of the headliners, and not got so caught up in the socialising, but hey, no one was paying me, I was on a day out.

 As far as festivals in Britain are concerned, the summer of 70 was probably the end of innocence. From then on in, it all got a lot more crowded, a lot more commercial, and a lot less fun.  I gave up music photography in 1977

 Just out of interest I attach the original poster and the contact sheets of the pics I took that day. Only two rolls of film, what the hell was I thinking!!”

Fiona L Forth-Collyer, 1970

“I was born and grew up in Street, and remember clearly being told that my father was duty doctor at the Pilton festival and that we could all go as a family. I was 12 and my sister about 9. We were worried that this was going to be an open air classic noise....BUT we arrived at The farm to see a sea of hippies and people dancing clothed and many naked and we just knew this was going to be fun...our father went off to do what he had to do and left my sister and I to explore and to meet back at the farm house in two hours...we walked through the field of people and tents...all canvas and small...and a few homemade wigwams. The music was loud and I can’t really remember who was playing...however I did become a big T Rex fan...so I think maybe this was where I first heard them...we saw and I still remember to this day a young man as naked as the day he was born with a chicken on his shoulder...just walking and no one taking any notice...We later met up in the farm kitchen and it was full of people coming and going, we had fresh milk and warm biscuits...there were several trays of biscuits and people just walked in and took them....and huge jugs of milk too...Micheal Eavis was charming. We stayed there for most of the day and late into the night.
Lots of amazing smells of joss sticks and other things.....little did I know at that age. I seem to remember that is was about £1 to get in and thinking how long I would have to save up my pocket money to get in...and how lucky I was to be there free....
have I been back...no I haven’t....I have tried on many an occasions....but it would never be the same as that day...a very fond memory.”

Morris Gregory, 1970

“At the time of the first festival I was a 16 year old schoolkid and lived in Wells. The festival was on my doorstep so I went along with several friends including John Callaghan, Susan (Dylan) Withy, Ryan Beeching and Mandy Stacy. The atmosphere was very relaxed and I remember sitting around the hog roast later on in the evening when it was getting a bit chilly. I was a bit disappointed that the Kinks had cried off, especially as ‘Tired of Waiting’ was one of the first singles I bought, but Marc Bolan was a great replacement. I think the band were still called Tyrannosaurus Rex at the time and about to shorten it to T. Rex as they moved towards the glam rock era. Of the other bands performing I was greatly impressed by Quintessence and the local band Stackridge. The following year I went again and my economics teacher, Tim Pring, joined us. He had introduced me to Mahler symphonies and the existential writings of Sartre so I introduced him to Bowie, Traffic, Melanie and others. The last time I went was 1982 that had Van Morrison and Jackson Browne performing. (See attached poor quality scanned photos I took at the time). I’m not sure but I think I witnessed the Crazy World of Arthur Brown that year, with his headdress on fire, and also the ethereal tones of Judi Tzuke.”

Katie Rowena Underwood, 1970

“My memories of  the  first Glastonbury, Pilton Pop and Rock Festival , 1970, are very sparse indeed, overshadowed by the  wonderful and vivid memories I have of the Bath  festival and the magical Isle of Wight Festival earlier that year.

It was  September ,  and I had   had such a fabulous summer  at these 2 festivals that I  decided to hitch down to Pilton , alone .  I was 17 .  I remember being dropped in a mass of winding  lanes and trudging along , my slleeping -bag on my back , utterly lost  ..no sign of any festival . Then I came across a street -sign that said '' Pilton '' .. and I walked up a farm -track .. and found people ! No-one  asked for my pound so I just walked in . I  walked into the farmhouse  round the back , where there were lots of people milling about and a sign saying that you could telephone from there . I knew no-one who was on the phone .. so didn't ! I   wandered about a bit , put my sleeping -bag down on the grass near the stage , and just went with the flow.

It was very small , very intimate and very friendly . I loved the bands ..  Quintessence [ who I had seen in concert several times before, Marc Bolan , Stackridge , Amazing Blondel, Al Stewart… gentle stuff. It was all so cosy and good -natured . People shared what they had. There was a free food kitchen ..brown rice and vegetables, so no-one went hungry .

I hitched back home a few days  later ...a better person , I am sure !”

Chris Robertson, 1970

“I attended the Festival in 1970 when I was 19 and it was held at Pilton, I think it was part of the Bath Festival then? I have no strong memories of it other than feeling very daring and slightly wet. It was also my first (and only) experience of smoking what was possibly cannabis. The event was fairly disorganised and slightly disappointing, like the cannabis”

Kevin de Las Casas, 1970

“I went to the first Glastonbury. And quite a few after over the years. I played at a few too, at the Green Gatherings and also we did a Ceilidh there once. That was amazing. The extra hot mango chutney ceilidh band.
The first one, well it was the first. I was 19 and had just walked out of my home, Jimi Hendrix had just died, one of my heroes. So there was a lot going on.
I hitched down from London and arrived at the farm early evening. I was greeted by a couple of local lads who were drinking cider out of a plastic bottle which they willingly shared with me. We talked a bit. I remember their accent. Somerset. Welcome to Worthy farm.
It was a long time ago now but a few things things stay in my mind. I remember the band Steamhammer on the stage and I remember Marc Bolan from T Rex. If I have it right it was just him and a drummer or congas. The stage was pretty rudimentary, just scaffolding and planks. There was a few groups of people spread out, mostly lying on the grass. Very relaxed. Music wise that’s all I can remember. I think I missed the first day.”

David Trippas, 1970

"I heard about a small festival being held on a farm at Pilton near Glastonbury. Rolling up my doss bag I hit the road. Soon arriving at Worthy Farm I found that although there was an entrance charge no one really minded if you didn’t pay and there was free milk being given away in cartons. It was a real farm as an abandoned old bath lay on the grass in front of the farmhouse being used as a water trough for the cattle. I blagged some food and went in search of music, finding Marc Bolan with Tyrannosaurus Rex performing in a field not far from the left of the farmhouse. The band where set up on the grass, with a haphazard bit of scaffolding covered in a green tarpaulin forming this small stage, only a few people were watching. Marc produced a professional set and I wandered off.

The farm was at the top of a small valley and it seemed to me that the best place for a stage was near the bottom of this natural curve in the largest of the small medieval fields. I was under the impression that the farmer had lost a lot of bread, having heard that he’d been fined 2K for selling milk from a brucellosis unaccredited herd, though it was never confirmed. What with the cost of the bands, I felt he’d taken a big hit and I felt sorry for him, at least he was trying to create a festival. I learnt later that he too had been to the Bath and West showground, having like me got under the fence for free. I went into the farmhouse’s main room and put my ideas to Michael. Michael listened patiently as I put on my best spiel, honed from many months selling original art. I explained that I would endeavour to find the money for him to put on another festival and that the natural amphitheatre that the farm presented was the best place for a stage. Having said my piece coloured by my travels, I thanked him and left to hitch hike to London, the only person who I knew who might help was Mick Farren of International Times and in no time at all I was talking to him. Mick is a nice bloke and had treated us well at Phun city, I laid my trip on him and the only person he could think of was Geoffrey Ashe the magical writer and historian, though I was to contact him other things were happening. I decided to go to Kensington market which at the time was a magnet for alternative people.

I’m a talkative person and get on with most people. At the front of the market I got chatting to a lady on a stall and told her my festival tale, she listened generously and to my surprise mentioned a bloke called Andrew Kerr who wanted to put on a free festival, she gave me a few pennies to ring him. We got on fine and he invited me to see him, she then gave me the bus fare to travel south of the city near the river and I duly arrived at a smart new house in a small close and introduced myself to Andrew. I told him about Worthy farm and seeing I was on the road he kindly let me have a bath and a good supper. Before I went to sleep that night Andrew told me that he was the private secretary for Arabella Churchill a relation of the late Sir Winston Churchill.

In the morning Andrew decided to go and meet Michael at Worthy farm and we climbed into his 3 litre non coupe Rover and headed out. It was a treat not to be hitch-hiking. We stopped at Avebury on the way down and did a bit of dousing with a hazel stick I had cut from the hedge row. After this rest we arrived at the farm where the festival was winding down and standing near the farmhouse Michael appeared, Andrew having not seen him before took no notice of him, so I told him that that was the farmer and he went over to introduce himself. At that moment the free Glastonbury Festival of 1971 was born."

John Coleman (partial extract from the eulogy read at Bill Harkin’s funeral March 2021)

"Fifty years ago next month, Zee, Hila and I drove from Kensington to Somerset, spent half an hour driving haphazardly around the of Pilton village’s lanes then eventually found Worthy Farm. It was pouring with rain as we drove through the wonky gate-posts. Bill Harkin was the first person we saw, he glanced out of a window just above our heads and raised a hand. Up a short flight of outdoor steps, his room was long and narrow with a draughtsman’s easel and drawing board, a samovar, a chair, a couple of high stools and what was once a Turkish kilim, ragged on the stone tiles. The inner wall was covered with drawings, writings, cardboard cut-outs and diagrams. The air in the room was fragrant. We introduced ourselves whilst Bill made a pot of tea with hot water from the brass samovar. Zee’s manner of speech could be a touch declamatory and his voice quite strident and at first, I could see Bill adjusting to his presence. He was trying not to flinch. Although a very gentle man, Zee was a new-age speaker and teacher and he filled a room somewhat.

On the easel was a drawing of a pyramid shape which we knew was the projected stage. Around the borders were sketched studies and scribbled notes. Bill talked us through it, in his slightly hesitant, almost aristocratic, deep drawl that immediately captivated Zee and Hila. At times he would pause for long enough for us to think he’d finished, before raising his arms to draw a shape in the air with a flourish, take a deep breath, cough, and continue. Canadian and American respectively, not long in England, the two hung on his words. I ventured what I hoped were a few intelligent, practical questions and drank my black tea without much enjoyment. Eventually I got to read Bill the list of bands and musicians I was trying to persuade to play on his stage in a couple of months time. He feigned polite interest for a while but it swiftly became apparent hat he had heard of none of them. I now know that if I’d added John Adams, Arvo Part or Stockhausen to my rota I’d have had his rapt attention. Later, we walked and slid down the meadow to see the first signs of the stage site, apparently dowsed by Andrew Kerr for maximum geo-physical significance. Stage height was discussed, we were definitely having no fencing or ‘press’ enclosure, and Bill showed us a section of ‘Kwikstage’ scaffolding that his crew would be using. It’s interesting to me now that even though I certainly did, I don’t recall meeting Andrew but do remember a brief, jovial encounter with Michael and his then wife, Jean."

Frank Millard, 1971

“The first time I went to Glastonbury I was a young art student who had heard about the place and felt compelled to go and see it for myself. I succeeded in persuading three friends that we ought to go there in the spring holiday rather than St Ives and so we set off to hitch down in pairs. We arranged to meet at the railway station little realising that there wasn't one or, at least, hadn't been since Dr Beeching closed the line. This my friend Rawdon and I discovered when we arrived a little way ahead of the other two. So, we went straight up the Tor thinking that was where our two friends would go and realised that we had arrived somewhere very special. However, it promptly poured with rain and we were forced to go back down in search of a camping place and so headed towards Cinnamon Lane. Camping proved a little difficult, however, because we found we had the canvas of the tent while the other two were carrying the poles and pegs. We spent an uncomfortable night in the doorway of the Methodist church at the top of the High Street and in the morning headed back towards the Tor. There we found the other two and sundry others. We met such people as Paul and Taj and several others, all very friendly smiling people. Wherever we went we were greeted by like minds, some like us and others much older, such as ladies who on reflection were probably some of the original 'Avalonians'. Other locals were less friendly and no hippy signs were everywhere. 

The first few visits blur into one in some ways, but the open-hearted and open-minded attitudes of people stood out. No one preaching, but sharing experiences, knowledge and ideas. The local hang outs included the Abbey Cafe (otherwise called the Temple of the Stars), which had a juke-box and was the most relaxed vegetarian cafe ever. Round the back there was a room where lectures were held by people like Mary Caine and Sir George Trevelian. Pubs we could go in were led by the Rifleman's Arms under the Tor, which had a no patchuli wearers sign at one time, but we assumed in jest. At that time it was separated into parlours and had a hatch at the end of a short corridor. Another was the Queen's Head at the top of the High Street, which sold very strong cider. As young hippies we did not realise how strong and mixed it with pickled eggs, mars bars and peanuts. we suffered for it. 

We heard a festival was going to be held at Worthy Farm and were concerned that it might spoil the wonderful atmosphere, but I determined to go. “

John Winward, 1971

Prologue

 In the months leading up to the Fair, a substantial community grew up in Cinnamon Lane, at the foot of Glastonbury Tor. Living in a variety of old caravans, tents, and complicated structures of bent twigs and bits of old polythene that looked as though they had been made by beavers, we awaited the start of the Fair.

Gimli’s Tale

The standard image of the Glastonbury Hippie would I suppose be Donovan on the cover of the ‘Gift’ album. In reality, the inhabitants of Cinnamon Lane were a diverse bunch. ‘Gimli’, who set up his tent next to the caravan I was crashing in, was at the most diverse end. Like a lot of the Cinnamon Lane crowd, he’d taken his name from the Lord of the Rings. I was never a fan of the Ring books and had to look up the reference, but his choice of ‘Gimli’ was spot on. Tolkein described the fictional Gimli as a ‘warrior dwarf’. The Cinnamon Lane Gimli had the stature of a dwarf but the physique, the generous Lemmy-style facial hair, and some of the attitude of a warrior. I particularly remember the interview he gave in the Lane to an increasingly-nervous young reporter from a local paper. As Gimli was living next door I spoke to him often, without ever managing to find out anything too specific about his background. A dodgy past was hinted at, but that wasn’t uncommon around Cinnamon Lane either.

As the date of the Fair got nearer, more and more people started arriving in the Lane. They brought two things with them: an interesting selection of psychedelic drugs and an even more interesting selection of wild hypotheses. Among the latter was the conviction that, at sunrise on the Solstice, flying saucers were going to descend onto Worthy Farm and transport all the worthy farmers to a new home in the stars. These threads wove themselves together a few days before we moved over to the site of the Fair.

By this time there was a fluid group of probably about a dozen people crashing in the caravan. One of the new arrivals brought a stash of psilocybin, and four or five of the group shared it out at some point in the afternoon. I skipped the offer. By the time it started to go dark they were well gone into the trip. A couple of them started doing that “I’m getting the most amazing purples” thing. This enhanced colour-perception was evidently catching, as within a few minutes they were all at it: “I’m seeing shooting stars!”, “The whole sky’s lit up red!”  This segued naturally enough into the After the Gold Rush hypothesis: “The flying saucers are coming down man! They’re coming to take us!” Worryingly, I knew I hadn’t dropped any psilocybin but was getting the same visual effects. I went to the caravan window to check. “Nope, no flying saucers, man. Gimli’s tent’s on fire”.

And so it was. We later learned that he had got into his sleeping bag and settled down to read by the light of a candle. Instead of which he fell asleep, knocked over the candle, and set fire to the tent. By the time we got outside the blaze was impressive. The entire tent had turned into a column of flame, and tiny pieces of burning cloth were fluttering down from above. At which point Gimli woke up. Now, as noted above, Gimli was as much a warrior as a hippie, and the moment triggered those warrior instincts. With a single cry of “Fucking Hell!” he ignored the tent opening, and instead barreled straight through the fabric of the side. The flames had already destroyed the integrity of the material, and he came roaring through, head and facial hair lit up with little flames. We beat out the fires as best we could, someone rolled up some Afghan Black, and within half an hour Gimli was back to his best.

The tent, though, was a write-off. By the time I emerged the next morning Gimli - and all signs of his existence except the ashes - had gone. I never saw him again.”

Katie Rowena Underwood, 1971

My sister and I had no tent [we never did ! ] ...just a sleeping -bag each and a large clear sheet of   thin plastic ...and string .  . We tied the plastic sheets to a tree and made a rudimentary shelter , but the weather was fine and hot , so we didn't really need  much shelter . I remember lying in there reading ' The Naked Lunch .''

This festival was truly lovely , so happy and carefree and joyous , with a wonderful atmosphere .  It was probably the nicest festival I ever went to [that and the Isle of Wight , 1970 ]. I remember the splendid and ebullient Pink Fairies  procession , with people drumming and chanting and bashing  pots and pans joining on behind , circling around the grounds  ... so exuberant and happy .

I found a badge in the grass , showing a cartoon pink pig with wings  and the words ' I made a Fairy .' My friend told me not to put it on as it was what the Pink Fairies gave out to their groupies ! I don't know if that was true !

The Pyramid Stage was  there for the first time , a great triangle of metal  pipes and plastic sheeting , glinting silver in the sun . 

In front of it was a great crowd of us , dancing ... some people completely naked   and free ... some exotically dressed . I was part of that merry throng . There is a nice clip on Youtube of us all dancing joyfully to Fairport Convention ,  Dave Swarbrick fiddling away    like crazy . Jesus  Jellet is there dancing in the crowd . I later became a very close friend of his when I moved to London in 1974. We were all so happy !

 There were three  exotically -robed dancers , one in just a loin -cloth ,who  circulated around the crowd in front of the stage , playing bongos , flute and finger -cymbals ... very   spectacular . I remember them well .     Everything seemed so bright and beautiful .

There were free food kitchens to feed everyone , brown rice and vegetables , and no-one went hungry or without anything they needed .  The nights were lovely too .. people sitting around their camp-fires chatting and passing round joints and tin mugs of herb tea ..all sharing .  Anyone was welcomed to come and join in the circle and share .

David Bowie  came on to play at dawn   ..I think on the second day . We were awoken to him    up there   , so compelling and magical. Lots of people were just lying about , sleeping in front of the stage .

This was such a lovely gathering of people ...truly special . The spirit was strong . I fear we will never see the like again ! 

Mouse O’ Brian, 1971

“I was Mighty Baby's roadie. At Glastonbury we didn't get to play on the main stage, but on a side stage which was little more than a class of pallets (about 1' off ground) four members of band had become muslims and stopped smoking dope leaving myself and Bam (rhythem guitar and vocals) to continue the fine tradition. The audience were very supportive and kept passing joints up and it would have been churlish to refuse. Part way through set the generator ran out of fuel, so the band seamlessly launched into an acoustic/percussive period while I refuelled the genny and then they seamlessly went back into the electric set.”

Geoffrey Harvey, 1978

“I was in my very first band, in my twenties and with one of my first jobs as a Pinball Machine engineer with the all important van... The year was 1978 I believe and we turned up unannounced and semi uninvited one Thursday evening at the Glastonbury festival, lack of knowledge and organisation made up for by pure enthusiasm and the excitement of the unknown.

I was super short of fuel as was our "other" van a large ex British Road Services van with a thirst for petrol and whilst in conversation with some true "Hippies" mounted on horseback a lovely particularly engaging individual who would not have been out of place in a documentary about lost civilizations asked if anyone could ride a horse which I actually could and without hesitation he handed over his beautiful piebald Mare with a long mane and tail to my care and off I trotted to the town itself with Jerry cans strapped to the saddle.

A glorious ride on a beautiful day accompanied by some exceedingly weird looks and moments of mild embarrassment brought fuel to our two vans and for the generator that was to power our lights and sound on a small hand crafted stage and no sign of a horse owner, but unperturbed we had a lovely first gig and although still no sign of my new equine companion's owner.

We were asked if we could be free for the weekend as a a band had dropped out and we were offered the support slot for "Hawkwind" which was to me like the Gods coming down to have an unexpected chat with me - we were all overcome with astonishment and actually played on the "original" Pyramid stage that sadly burnt down many years later and I can truly say it was one of the very best days in my very happy life .I still have a cassette of the track as a memento and during the gig the beautiful horse to whom by now I had become deeply attached was tethered to my van so as not to be anywhere too loud and gave me a lovely welcome as I came off stage overwhelmed by the whole event.

Being before the world of instant communication I was wondering where I could find a phone box to ask "my mum" if we could keep a horse in our garden in Golders Green when the errant equestrian turned up and said "cheers Man" for the gig and was reunited with his horse and when I said truthfully if unwillingly that I had been looking for him, he nonchalantly replied "if she did'n't like you she would have left you and found me"... and with love, disappointment and the awareness of unwelcome reality I said farewell.

I remember those few days with such great delight now aged 63 and still playing drums and having originally borrowed my "works van" for one day and left home and came back 6 days later a changed person.

It was worth all the brief grief as even now I look back at those few days as truly life changing and totally an insight into another possible world and still remains possibly and almost definitely the best week of my life . . .so far!

Our main singer and songwriter Hal (unlike his namesake in 2001) is now a teacher and the lead guitarist "Mathew Ashman who was a quiet "hippy type" joined Adam and the Ants and then "Bow Bow Wow" and was less quiet . . .but sadly died some years ago - Jasper the bass player became a member of "Then Jericho" - I am lucky enough to be in touch with the lovely John, percussionist and lovely man who was very practical and cheerful and Jasper and rarely but delightfully Hal…

I am now after a long gap a regular attendee at Glastonbury and have been lucky enough to do pinball and music bits at “Lost Vagueness” and “Shangri La” and then more recently the fantastic “Glastonbury on Sea” pier built by the mudtoid waste but still looking back on those few days in 1981 as my most exciting and astonishing times both at Glastonbury and ever…”

David Trippas, 1978

“There was a small collection of people and though no festival was planned one just happened. (I later learnt it was planned) As I entered the farm I took a few tokes on a spliff and became psychotic feeling that I shouldn't walk under the pylon wires crossing the land. So in my madness I decided to climb a pylon and left my boots and money at its base and set on up this huge structure. I was a danger to myself and had also climbed out of a hotel window and down the hotel wall via a drainpipe in Wells, on the way to Worthy farm.

I survived this even though I was in bare feet and it was raining and on stepping down from the pylon saw my money had been stolen and my boots left. I didn't see any music and got a lift back to London the next day. Arriving back at the squat I went to bed and became catatonic, lying in the bed for a few days in this dream like state and then thankfully my brother and sister arrived and took me home.

I stayed a few days at home and then the police took me back to hospital. More ECT and depo major tranx though at least it wasn't forced. I made a chess set in occupational therapy and after a couple of months was once more back in the community.”

Bluw O' Rourke (above gallery by Jane Walker, 1979)

“My 1st Glastonbury was when I was 1 and my last was when I was 19. I didn't make every year in between and a lot of my memories are hard to pin to a particular date. But it was nearly always great fun.

70-77.

We went nearly every year. Pitching our Teepee and building the camp fire. A big purple flag showed us where home for the week was.. Meeting with mums friends from all over the country and having great fun playing with their kids.Going off on adventures all over the grounds. Dressing up, face painting, hair plating, following Benny? the clown coming back when your tummy said it's time to eat Making beans and toast on the open fire. Falling asleep with music and laughter as your lullaby”

Nigel Rayment, 1979

“One of the craziest thing I’ve ever seen was a Wizard sitting on the bog, having a dump and reading a story book to a semi circle of spell-bound children. 1979.”