Rowena Draper, 1983

Here's a little story for yas, it was the hottest summer since Anyone could remember and my parents decided to do Glastonbury. It was a time when the locals were not pleased at all and the road leading to the site had lots of police stoping and searching vehicles. So a long snail's pace to finally reach the entrance, find a spot for the VW caravanette and for my parents to set up the awning, hence my rather ruddy cheeks being confined and cooped up in such heat. My parents took me to a wonderful children’s area having come from the quietness of Cambrian Mountains in Wales where we made our own entertainment, this was a wonderland of pure joy.

My most joyous thing to do was to dress up from the fancy dress and head straight to a giant blown up bouncy cushion to jump around with a sea of other children. Later we went to the music. My parents met up with friends from Bristol and my mums brother, Uncle Marcus, from Scotland. Laying the picnic blankets down everyone decided to wear as little as possible, especially my uncle Marcus, brown as a berry, wearing a very colourful brief pair of under pants. Walking around exhausted with the heat my parents were absolutely astounded at a large group of shaved headed men, wrapped in orange garments playing music while jumping non stop to their beat, following the crowds. Some one stopped my parents with a rucksack on their back with some tubes dangling with knives in their hands asking if they would like to try some hot knives.

That winter my parents decided to make a tipi. So the next time we went to Glastonbury they were fully prepared, bringing Bombay mix and treats homemade to sell. Djembe drum and all. It was the year it didn't stop raining. Up in the tipi field we were so lucky as being high up the mud wasn't so bad. When we ventured down below with the crowds it was mayhem we watched people loosing wellies off their feet as they got stuck, people swimming in mud up to their thighs ordering food from the counter. My dad remembers one man leaning against a tree eating his food with mud up to his waste. Our friends grateful for a place from their washed out tents and clothing to dry out and make music and chill round the open fire, in our tipi, brewing herb teas and making chapatis with tahini and honey, from our own bees.

A great time had by all, all very sad leaving and saying our good byes, till next time. 30 years later my partner and I ended up by chance buying a piece of land in Pilton right next to the festival site. We now live on our home stead with our two children and set up our Flying Machine Cafe at worthy view every Glastonbury Festival