The Ned Wood Archive

Sam

“Half way” says Sam.

“What!” says Lyn. She sounds exasperated. Sam doesn’t tell them that it’s all uphill from here on.

They get to the Greenpeace Field. Round the back of the Greenpeace Field is a magical area, Sam tells them. Trouble is, you can’t get in. Not unless you’re a kid. Or you’ve got a kid. He should get a kid so he can go. Maybe he can borrow one of his grand nieces when they start coming. Won’t be long now. He did manage to get in once, though. Years ago. Now he’s telling Lex and Lyn about it.

There’s a dragon called Cadmus. One of the many Glastonbury dragons. They should search them all out one time. This one, the one in the Greenpeace kids field is a dragon ship. Or a ship dragon. One or the other. Sam doesn’t know which. But the best bit, behind the dragon, way back at the far end, there’s a tree. Not just any tree. This tree is the spiritual heart of the festival. Forget about the Pyramid or the Other Stage or the rest of the Green Fields or Shangri-La, the centre of the festival is right over there and it’s reserved for the kids. Ain’t that wonderful?

It’s an old old oak with thick wrinkled bark like the sagging skin of an old well-travelled wanderer. The thick trunk supports a fist of gnarled, arthritic branches, each scarred and twisted from the weight and experience of five hundred years. Round the base, massive roots twist and coil making cosy nooks and comfortable crannies just inviting you to curl up inside like you were choosing your favourite armchair in front of the library fire.

And here’s the real secret. They call it the Telling Tree. If you go and sit in one of those root-made seats, and lean back and let the tree take your weight, it’ll talk to you. Pay attention and you’ll hear the tree telling stories. Hundreds of stories. Pay extra close attention and you can focus on one. Maybe it’s a well known story from your youth. Toad of Toad Hall. Winnie the Pooh. The Little Prince. Sometimes it’s one of them more recent stories for kids. And, you know what, Sam could swear he heard Moby Dick and Titus Groan when he was sat there.

But you can’t get in. Not unless you’re a kid. So instead of taking them to see Cadmus and the Telling Tree, he points out the ice cream seller just outside the Greenpeace Field. Another Glastonbury highlight.

“Fancy a break?, says Sam. “Ice cream? This is on me.”

“No it isn’t,” says Lex and firmly tells the lass serving to split the bill. It’s bloody expensive.

“It’s OK, I just called to remortgage my house,” says Sam.

“I thought you weren’t using your phone” says Lyn.

“OK, you got me there!”

They sit on the wooden benches crafted at the corner of the cross roads. Lex wanders off to explore the Greenpeace Field. Sam tells Lyn that the best way to experience Glastonbury is to not get wound up about being somewhere at a particular time but to follow your nose and do what’s in front of you. Then he realises he’s starting to sound like Ade. The tragedy of most sons is that they end up like their Dads. Sam passed that ten, twenty years ago. Now he’s turning into his kid brother!

“Where now?” asks Lyn. Lex has just come back. Good timing cos they’ve finished their ice cream tubs.

“Keep going straight,” says Sam. “That’s how you remember your way about. We’ve come in a straight line from the recycling centre.” He points back the way they’ve come.

“Have we?” asks Lyn.

“Well, it’s as straight as you’ll ever get at Glastonbury.”

They walk up through the Green Fields. It’s tempting to stop, but Lyn wants to keep going.

“You can come back and look around when you haven’t got a band to see,” says Sam. “Or you can look around now. It’s up to you.” He wants to point out all of the attractions that they pass. Croissant Neuf where he saw a great set from Steve Knightley and Seth Lakeman. Knightley did a great version of Romeo and Juliet on a mandocello, you know – that old Dire Straits song. You and me babe. How about it? Henry’s Beard where he used to go for breakfast when he camped on Pennard Hill. The Buddhafield. Lyn takes her phone out to check the time. They’re OK.

“Oh, I’ve heard of this place,” says Lex when they reach the Stone Circle field.

“Yeah. It’s really magical up here. And more friendly dragons.” He can’t resist taking them on a wee detour over to the left hand side of the field to visit the beast sleeping next to the stream. Another one to add to the collection.

“If you’re feeling a bit tired, you can always ask her to give you a ride up to the top of the hill.” Because now they’ve got to do the hard yards. Diagonally across the Stone Circle itself – “come back in the evening and enjoy the vibes” – then out by the top of the Tipi Field then straight up into Strummerville. Straight up, yes, but that’s easier said than done. They’re none of them saying anything, just trudging up towards the outpost at the top of the hill. At least it ain’t too hot to climb. The rain’s gone now, but it’s still a bit cloudy. Folk are sitting around on the hillside. There’s an old motor about to roll off down the hill, back past the way they came. Lex sidles up to inspect it. Fortunately it’s held up by a long sleeper under the front wheels.

Strummerville itself looks like an old shanty town perched high up in the clouds. A remote village in the jungle like something out of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel. There was probably some old settlement here for a hundred years before the festival extended out and discovered it.

“Why’d they put it so far away?”

“It used to be down next to the Green Fields, not far from where we’ve been. Between the Green Fields and Shangri La. That was at the edge of the festival back in those days. The great man himself set up a camp fire back then. I guess it needs to be at the World’s End to channel his spirit. Outside the city walls.”

Behind the trees, at the centre of Strummerville itself, a DJ is spinning some discs before the bands perform. The gentle rockin sounds of Sudan Cadogan, Hurt So Good, roll out of the speakers and slide across the ground in front of the stage. The thread of sound floats into the circle of armchairs around the campfire, weaves in and out between them, then drifts over to the left, up the gradual entrance slope, through the arch of trees, continuing in a straight line across the approach to Strummerville and out to where Sam and Lyn and Lex are waiting. The rhythm takes Sam’s heart in the palm of its hand, squeezes it tight, and drags it back towards the fire.

All three: Sam, followed by Lyn and Lex, are pulled into the jungle. They go past the shacks selling drinks and souvenirs, past the green, yellow, and red pennants, past the silhouette of the great Joe Strummer and guitar, through the tunnel of trees, deeper into the heart of Macondo, deeper into a dream of the past.

They see a clearing in the trees. Over to the right is the small stage broadcasting the magical music. There is a random collection of locals standing around or squatting here and there. In the centre of the clearing is the campfire, warm and inviting. Framing the fire at a respectful distance is a halo of arm chairs and sofas paying tribute. Most are occupied by small groups, each group seemingly oblivious of the others. Some stare at the flames, some stare at their phones, most look like they are engaged in conspiratorial chats. They’ll be off to join Colonel Buendía and the rebels in the morning.

As they approach the magic circle, a group stands up and leaves, as if commanded by the colonel himself. Sam claims their sofa and has Lyn and Lex join him, Lyn sits on one side, Lex the other. Lyn consults her phone and tells them they’ve got plenty of time as the band won’t be on for another half hour.

Did you ever see that film about aliens coming to earth?  Who was in it?  Jodie Foster was it?  It wasn’t an invasion.  They didn’t come and nuke any cities or steal any bodies.  They were lonely.  They just wanted to talk.

A young girl comes up and stands in front of Sam. She’s Latina, maybe Spanish or Portuguese or Brazilian or whatever. Twenty, twenty-five. Sam’s not that good a judge.

“Are you the man of these two women?” she asks.

Sam guffaws. He’s trying to think of something witty, but can’t. Lyn is much sharper.

“He is the man of many women. We are the lucky ones today.” Then she adds: “I’m Mitzi, this is Bernadette [pointing to Sam], and that’s Felicia [Lex].”

“Are you in love?” the lass asks.

“I’m in love,” says Sam, not altogether untruthfully. “What about you?” he asks, turning to Lyn.

“I’m in love,” says Lyn. Sam turns to Lex and asks her. She says the same.

“Yes, we’re in love. Not necessarily with each other,” she says. “What about you?” The lass just smiles. However, she’s satisfied and walks off.

“Are you the man of these two women,” says Sam as she disappears. They all laugh at the absurdity of the thought.

Lex nudges Lyn to point out a couple of lads sat a third of the way around the ring of sofas. They’ve got their arms around each other. Sam’s first thought is that he didn’t come up here to play voyeur so he ain’t gonna stare.

Lyn points out another pair of lads further off. They too are enjoying a wee cuddle.

“It’s lovely that they feel able to do that isn’t it?” says Lyn.

Sam is a bit surprised at this and asks what she means to see whether he’s understood correctly. This isn’t exactly Homphobe City.

“They’re straight,” says Lex.

“How can you tell?” asks Sam.

“We can tell,” says Lyn. Those two are straight and those too are as well. They’re just enjoying the freedom to be themselves.

“There you go,” says Sam. “Freedom and Rain.”

Eventually the band come on. They call themselves Girlband, apparently. They’re girls and they’re a band. Well, they won’t get done for misrepresentation. They’re a proper rock n roll band to be fair. Lots of catchy tunes. Lots of juicy guitar. Sam gets up off the sofa and stands in front of the stage and sways slightly in time with the music. It’s as close as he ever gets to dancing. They do a fairly basic version of T.Rex Hot Love, but it gets the crowd singing along to the chorus. It’s one of the first songs Sam can remember from being a kid, so he joins in throughout. They’ve also got this dead catchy song about girls talking about boys and boys talking about girls. That’ll be a hit one day.

“How do you know this lot?” Asks Sam. He thinks maybe he can see a family resemblance between the guitarist and Lex. Or maybe it’s that they’ve both got short black hair and tattoos all over their arms. No, it’s more than that, but it turns out they’re not related.

“Saw a video for them with Bella Ramsey.”

The name doesn’t mean anything to Sam. He doesn’t watch Game of Thrones. Or the Worst Witch, to be honest.