Cherry Gilchrist
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Isle of Wight Festival, 1969

6/4/2012

6 Comments

 
Picture
My only surviving photo of the Isle of Wight Festival, 1969
Isle of Wight Festival 1969
Or: The Rainbow Years
Were you there? If so, I probably didn’t see you. It was a seething scrum, after all. Did you watch Bob Dylan? Oh, was he that dot on the stage, almost out of sight, literally, even in the days when I didn’t need glasses? And did you enjoy hanging out with the love crowd of ’69? Hmm – in between the hunt to find food and an unpolluted toilet, I can’t say it was my most blissful experience.

But, hey, I do love to remember the festival that I hated! It was a journey of self-discovery, after all. The one where I discovered I didn’t like crowds, rock music and being stuck on small islands. And quite genuinely, my 60s memories are precious to me. I was there – I saw, I did. I am entitled to reminisce, with a groan.

It looked promising, on arrival. A pleasant green field to put up our tiny two-man tent, lots of space around. That didn’t last. My then-boyfriend, later- husband and I relaxed, allowed ourselves to become chilled out, probably spaced out too. Then tents began to spring up all around us, liberally sprinkled with lager-swilling inhabitants. Not the dope-smoking, happy hippies we were used to, or the students of our own normal habitat, but rough tough guys out to make a weekend of it using traditional methods of booze and fighting to enhance the experience. Nearby copses and ditches soon became unusable as green loos, and the excited chattering became a continuous twenty-four hour uproar. Despite my long hair and generally dishevelled appearance, I was actually an early-to-bed, prefers folk to-rock kind of wimp.

I only have short memory clips of the weekend but those that remain are certainly connected with moments of self-awakening. We started to go hungry. The organisers hadn’t expected such huge crowds, around 150,000 it’s estimated. They hadn’t provided enough toilets (‘nuff said already) or food. First basic insight: I don't like to live without loos or sustenance - why pay for the privilege of doing that? Once the local village shop had run dry of groceries, we watched as festival vendors hiked their prices higher and higher. The equivalent of £10 for a slice of fruit pie, for instance. I saw and noted how exploitation and greed flourishes even when the message is freedom, peace and love. That’s two revelations, and the third was more of a confirmation. I couldn’t really be bothered with the speck of Dylan on a faraway stage, droning out music I’d heard already and didn’t particularly like. I should have known that; I had queued overnight on a Birmingham pavement with friends a few years earlier just for the fun of it, to buy Dylan tickets which I didn’t then want to use. (And no, I didn’t sell them on at a profit!) Hmm – so I was a dead loss at a festival then, wasn’t I?


Fourth revelation: I couldn’t leave when I wanted to. When the crowds built up, it became impossible to get where you wanted, even just walking around, let alone trying to get off the island. Besides, my boyfriend was all for staying and he seemed to be enjoying himself. After the festival finished, we had to join a shuffling throng of refugees trying to make their way to the port and onto a ferry boat back to Southampton. It took hours. I remember then driving through Winchester (probably, we’d hitched a lift – though how we managed that with so many others around, I don’t know) and silently intoning the words of the song ‘Winchester Cathedral, you’re bringing me down’ to myself.


I’ve tried the Isle of Wight, festivals and camping since, though separately, never all together again, and have to say that my illuminations on that occasion proved to be correct. I don’t like any of them. I blurted out my antipathy for the Isle recently at a family get-together, only to discover that a certain tribe of in-laws hail from there. We managed to make a joke of it – just. My daughter has done the correct thing though and rebelled against her mother’s preferences. She’s a professional festival organiser. She cut her teeth on illicit entries to Glastonbury – once in a drum box, in a roadie’s van – and has organised music events across Europe and Australia. I’m very proud of her, just as long as I don’t have to go too.


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6 Comments
jill mackay link
28/1/2013 07:46:05 am

My experience was a lot different to yours.
We hitched from Hertfordshire, and the crossing on the ferry, there and back was no problem at all. I remember the sun shining, staying in a communal enormous tent,and meeting by chance, a few people from our local town, a foam bubble dance area and just sitting around enjoying the bands.
The low point, and here I have to agree - waiting three hours sitting cross legged on the grass, in the rain, until the early hours of the morning, until Bob Dylan decided to make a show. Whereas, he started to swear and abuse the audience. We decided, even after waiting the three hours after his scheduled appearance; to leave him to his meanderings and return to the communal tent.
All in all - we had a brilliant time. Caught ferry back easily, and hitched back home.

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Cherry link
2/2/2013 04:25:01 am

I'm glad that somebody had a good time, Jill! Probably proves that I am not cut out to be a happy festival goer. Though I might have enjoyed the foam bubbles, if I'd found them.
Cherry

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Tony
31/8/2013 02:52:26 am

Hi. I was there too. I was 20. I saw the Stones in the Park that July. I spent about ten days at the concert site, digging toilet tents and doing odd jobs. We got some cash, and free tix (the day of the first concert, the foreman came around and made sure we all had tickets -- very cool). Umm. Do you know who the blonde guy is in the background of your photo? That looks like our Desolation Row, and he looks a lot like me. I can't be sure. I like your reminiscences, even though I still have fond memories of the concert and my hippie days and Desolation Row.

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Cherry Gilchrist
9/9/2013 05:05:05 am

Hi Tony - I don't know who the blonde guy was, but because my boyfriend and I got there early, the people around us in the camp site were also early arrivals so it could well have been you. And Desolation Row rings a bell! Sounds as though you had a good time - it was an amazing period.
Cherry

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Tony
9/9/2013 06:57:41 am

Hi: My My partner Jane (30 years now!) looked at and said "Of course it's you: that's your nose and you still sit like that." I also dug up a photo of me in June of that year: same glasses and (indeed) same nose. I certainly remember that part of the campground. Strange stuff ... our paths crossed all those years ago. Thanks for the reply. Do you mind if I use the picture? I'll credit it any way you like; I could also just link to it if you'd prefer.

michael harris
20/6/2021 03:46:38 am

hi Cherry,who could tell that two people who were there in 69 would be in Topsham and what better place to live..as always you have brought make memories.

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    Cherry Gilchrist

    Author of books on family history, relationships, alchemy, myths & legends. Life writing tutor, early music singer, arts lecturer. Keen on quirky, ancient and mysterious things.

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