Glastonbury and the Quest for The Holy Grail. Part 1.

Opening: A memory, a dream, and an invocation….

I have been visiting the small Somerset town of Glastonbury since a blazing hot summer in 1984, a delightful recollection that still resides in my memory like a much-loved and well-thumbed poem.

I set off directly from work through the weekend traffic, its deadly denizens on the move, each journey individually important, perfectly predictable, manically maddening, and as fast as feasible! I could feel my mind caught within this modern malaise of testy, touchy, prickly- present progress. A ragged reflexive urge to go…somewhere, anywhere, and nowhere at the same time. But in the deepest sanctuary of my multi-layered mind, beyond the teasing tumult of traffic, I could feel the antidote to this mocking modern madness of speed…the calm green pastel pastures of Glastonbury… the Isle of Avalon… drawing me into its warm, wise, womb…whispering wordlessly…“don’t just do something…sit there…”

I left the frenetic frenzy of the motorway as soon as possible and cut across the Somerset Levels; reclaimed from the sea, crisscrossed by streams, dikes, and picturesque villages; their gingered sandstone walls glowing in the honeyed evening sun. Buzzards wheeling like pale ashes ascending in an airy arc and blackbirds playing hide-and-seek through the languid lanes. I could feel the stress began to evaporate like mist in the midday sun.

I finally washed up at a campsite on the lower slopes of the primal Glastonbury Tor called Ashwell Farm. Pitched my tent next to the sound of the rushing waters of the well underground and immediately met a couple of Vikings from Huddersfield. We spent a week of mystical musings, esoteric explorations, Aquarian atmospheres, with spirals of light, cackling candles, laughter and incense. All bathed in the encompassing ambiance of the birds with their lively legatos and the bees buzzing lazily, humming harvesters of gold, alighting on the limpid leaves, apples ripening on the bough like honey slowly thickening in a jar. Joyfully alive, basking in a smiling sun…I fell in love with Avalon, Isle of Apples and Aquarian dreams, portal to Arthurian adventures…

Well, I have lost count of how many times I have returned to this magical mystical part of England, Avalon lives in my heart like a shining jewel under a soft sun, and I heartily recommend it to anyone who reads my blog. Words will never do it justice. It has an atmosphere, an air, a spirit of place. All faiths are drawn here by it. For me Glastonbury’s genus loci, its soul, its enchantment, resides in the waters that flow from Chalice Well.

When traveling to Glastonbury across the Somerset levels the journey takes on a pilgrimage like profundity. The first thing you will see is the magnificent, ruined church tower of St Michael’s on top of the Tor hill, dominating the previously fen-like wetlands it towers above. Glastonbury Tor is a landmark that can be seen for miles around. It sticks up out of the levels like a giant breast of the Earth Mother, capped by the ruined tower (the church was knocked down in a medieval earthquake). As you approach - from whatever direction - at some point the Tor rises-up and smites your senses with its majesty, drawing you in like so many pilgrims over the millennia.

The Tor, The Town and the Well. The Heart of Glastonbury Somerset.

To the West of the Tor, snuggled around it like a necklace draped over its graceful curve, lies

the small market town of Glastonbury. Glastonbury is most famous for the local Uber arts

festival that it is named after. Taking place at Worthy Farm in Pilton, Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts has become the largest gathering of this type in the UK and has spawned myriad others. Since 1971 it has been held intermittently at the nearest weekend to the Summer Solstice attracting between 200,000 to 300,000 festival goers and is a rite of passage for many into the world of hedonistic alternative lifestyles. I first went in 1984, two weeks after, I returned to the town as described in the invocation above, stimulated by my experience at the event. It was a wild west back then, no police were allowed on site and…well that is another story, as is my experience of playing the second stage with my band Crazyhead in 1987 that got us banned for life! But back to the town itself.

Although it has many of the features of a normal English town, with churches, schools, supermarkets, services. It is also a tourist destination for many people of an alternative mindset. An ancient place of spiritual sanctity and power. It attracts a colourful and eclectic group of mystics, visionaries and seekers from all religious and philosophical perspectives. Long a centre for Christian pilgrimage (it’s magnificent, ruined Abbey being the reputed site of the first Christian Church in Britain), it is set like a green jewel within its rosy apple orchards and cattle-spotted fields that sit majestically on the Levels. With its ancient buildings and Abbey, and the epitome of a sacred hill, the Tor, ascending as it does like the back of a giant slumbering beneath the earth, Glastonbury is a little piece of England that has become special to many. Here in times past ancient Anchorite ascetics had their holes dug into the side of the Tor, surrounded by the many springs that bubble boisterously below ground, percolating precociously through its sleepy slopes. It is also a focus for aircraft navigation from the nearby navy Fleet Air Arm and, allegedly, Unidentified Flying Objects.

Below the Tor - nestled in a sheltered and sunny south-facing valley - sits the resident genus-loci or spirit of Glastonbury, Chalice Well. For myself - and others - this is the mid-point-  of the magic. Here, surrounded by a beautiful garden, sits a venerable, ancient, iron-rich, blood-tasting, red-staining, chalybite spring. The waters rise at the well-head before flowing underground to the Lion’s Head where they can be imbibed, then they tumble joyously down weaving channels and waterfalls, sculptures, and ritual baths, until joining the adjacent (but completely different) White Spring’s stream that wells up a few yards away in a cave on the opposite side of Wellhouse Lane, enclosed in a Victorian cistern that has housed many past attractions. Chalice Well flows at a constant rate of 25,000 gallons a day and has a constant temperature of 11.1111 Celsius (!) through the coldest winters and severest droughts. Its distinctive iron-flavoured taste is said to come from the Holy Chalice or Grail (or in another version, two cruets of Christ’s blood) buried under the adjacent Chalice Hill by Jesus’s uncle Joseph of Arimathea.

Glastonbury is a maker of myths. One of the most famous concerns Joseph.  It is said that he visited Glastonbury, at that time an island in the flooded fens, to acquire rare deposits of tin brought up from nearby Cornish mines. Not only that but he brought with him his young nephew Jesus. They are said to have walked from their ship’s landing near the ancient Oaks named Gog and Magog to Wearyall Hill, where - weary with their labours – they rested and Joseph planted his staff, and a Thorn tree took root. To this day the Glastonbury Thorn is grown in the Chalice Well, standing over the Lion’s Head. The Glastonbury Thorn, is a Middle Eastern variety of Hawthorn that has the rare property of blossoming at Easter and Christmas. Indeed, by long tradition, the former Queen and now King Charles have a flowering Thorn cutting present at their Christmas Table.

This myth is celebrated in one of England’s most popular patriotic hymns, Jerusalem. English mystic artist William Blake's 1804 dramatic poem was later put to music by Hubert Parry and orchestrated by Sir Edward Elgar and draws on the myth that Christ himself may have visited Glastonbury with Joseph of Arimathea and will one day return to bring paradise on Earth.

“And did those feet in ancient time,

Walk upon England’s mountains green:

And was the holy Lamb of God,

On England’s pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,

Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

And was Jerusalem builded here,

Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:

Bring me my Arrows of desire:

Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold:

Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:

Till we have built Jerusalem,

In England’s green & pleasant Land.

Blake’s poem was also illustrated with megaliths including a Stonehenge trilithion.

Glastonbury Town: Myth, Magik and Modernity.

Modern-day Glastonbury is a small county town and tourist attraction. Here the spirit of the 1960s Age of Aquarius lives on. As such it possesses a fine selection of accommodations to suit all tastes from campsites to new-age retreats, hotels to vegetarian Bed and Breakfast. The town boasts a unique array of New Age, Wiccan, Pagan and ethnic shopping, where clothing, trinkets and much, much more are available. The range is unique to the UK. Along with the above is a large health food supermarket and the more common food outlets like the Co-Op. At the top of the High Street sits Bilbo Baggins Hemp supplies, and as you proceed down, many charities have shops that spill over with the cast-off esoteric detritus of the hippy and alternative residents, providing stimulating treasure hunting for the devotee of second-hand plunder! Glastonbury is also stuffed with a phantasmagorical miscellany of mysterious magical emporiums selling candles and crystals, jasper and joss, spells and smudge sticks, Green Men and Goddesses – the list is endless. The bookshops are remarkable and many, containing a truly eclectic mix of alternative literature, old and new. The sadly missed Gothic Image, the original mystic shop, published many esoteric books on Glastonbury. If you want to know how to make a stone circle, plot a ley line, visit a fairy spot, get a sound bath and have your yoni steamed by a priestess of the goddess temple, Glastonbury is the place. Truly this is a major centre for the stoned philosopher, Hern hunting wizard or dream-catching hedge witch!

Feeling hungry? No problem. a selection of restaurants including plenty of vegetarian food and groovy cafes.  “Normal” shops like baker Burns the Bread, a local butcher with quality West Country grass-fed meat - indeed the pasture is famously rich here producing marvellous milk, dairy and local cheeses, not least the local Cheddar from…Cheddar! Organic fruit and veg and a good selection of pubs and cafes are obligatory. Vegans and Vegefarians are well catered for in Glastonbury. I remember a vegan café called Ploughshares in the early to mid-1980s before most people even knew what veganism was. Of the many pubs scattered about, the backstreet alternative focused King Arthur with its garden and small venue is popular, as is the Rifleman’s Arms close to Chalice Well and one of the entrances to climb the Tor. 

Creatives are drawn like moths to the flame of Glastonbury. Music, art exhibitions, theatre, cabaret, comedy, galleries and happenings abound at the pubs, shops, art centres, Assembly Rooms, and Town Hall. I once attended with my family the “1000th Annual Liars Convention” where my young son won “The Holy Grail” in a competition. I still have it. A sculpted green 1930s vase. Hilarious. Glastonbury attracts, of course, an alternative crowd and the people watching is marvellous. Sitting outside a café observing the community pass by is one of life’s great pleasures, and a highlight of any Glastonbury visit. The last time I lazed and gazed there, a man dressed like Gandalf, staff, hat, beard and all, with a fully grown black crow on his shoulder, was window shopping for crystals - as you do. Another, dressed like a time traveller from the 1970s, long hair, beard, headband, flared jeans, cheesecloth shirt, rings, and bells, was running down the street barefoot, Jangling like a juggler late for his macrobiotic lunch!

Glastonbury has a unique atmosphere and hosts many alternative conferences and gatherings, not least the already mentioned world-famous Glastonbury Festival. Workshops, exhibitions, retreats, and therapies of all descriptions thrive. You can heal yourself with sacred drumming, learn how to garden with permaculture, join a crystal therapy class, get your aura massaged and chakras cleansed while yoga-ing like a goddess to your (sacred) heart’s content. All in all, Glastonbury is a unique experience and a well-kept secret. I heartily recommend it.

Alexander Peach, Bandung, September 2024