Shepton Mallet - June 1970
On Halloween I was working late due to an audit (got home at one in the morning – highlife on the streets- luckily ran nobody down, alive or dead). Over the evening I was browsing blogs and found someone who wrote about sleeping in a graveyard and surprising people in the morning when sitting up!
Some people do have weird hobbies, but it got me thinking of my own experiences with graveyards. I thought I would relate a harmless event from my past to said locations.
When working in London in 1970, a colleague 'M' wanted to go to the Bath festival at Shepton Mallet over the weekend and suggested I tag along as we both wanted to go but not alone. As M's parents lived in the near of the event, we could train down on the Friday after work, stay overnight and get to the gig early.
We arrived at the concert and within a short time we had lost sight of each other among the 150.000 crowd that had turned up. One of the problems been on ones todd, is when one needs to spend a penny. I only had one option, to pack my rucksack and leave the patch of muddy ground I had squatted on.
The picture above right is a scan of my program from the event. As I didn't have a camera at the time I've borrowed one from Terry Farebrother to show what it was like.
Even if M had been there holding the fort, I'm not sure if I would have be able to find him again after my long sojourn to the distance toilets. I can’t remember that much about the music (no I was not high) apart from my favourite group Pink Floyd who played for the first time Atom Heart Mother.
The live music went on late into the night, delayed mainly due to the difficulty getting the groups in and out of the area. At about one in the morning they were playing music from tape and it didn't sound like it was going to stop at all. As I had long given up trying to hassle a sleeping space among all those bodies and with the loud music in the background I decided to go for a walk to get away from it all.
The country lanes were dark and deserted and I had no idea where I was going. By the time the music had died down to the level of my tinnitus, I started to look around for somewhere to sleep. Eventually I reached a village and on the outskirts, a church. I went and sat on the steps trying to decide what to do next, it must have been about two o’clock by this time. It was either start back without a nap or crash where I was. I was beyond caring where I put my head down at this point.
There must have been some moonlight as I could see outlines of gravestones. Never one for missing the opportunity of wandering through a graveyard even at this late hour, I set off. Walking back and forth along the rows of graves, I found two that looked newly occupied. They were just mounds of fresh earth waiting for their boarders and there in the incline between them a perfect place to layout my sleeping bag. Without further ado, I was flat out and "dead" to the world!
The next thing I remember was being suddenly awake. It was light and peaceful. I was disoriented for a moment, then realised where I was, turned over and dropped back into sleep.
And then there was this bell ringing somewhere off stage..
I was suddenly back again, this time with a panic building up due not to my current location, but because it was Sunday morning and the bell meant human activity in the church. The last thing I wanted was to be found taking up real-estate space in a graveyard! I packed my rucksack and moved off as quickly as possible.
There was no irate vicar running after me with his cassock flapping in the wind, no little old lady with an arm full of flowers for the altar, fainting as I sat up saying in a husky voice "good morning dear".
Only this bleary-eyed gestalt moving in the direction of the village wanting an egg and bacon sandwich and a hot cup of tea to stop a rumbling stomach.
It was a long wait until the rumbling subsided; only in London on the Monday morning did I feel back in the land of the living.
Some people do have weird hobbies, but it got me thinking of my own experiences with graveyards. I thought I would relate a harmless event from my past to said locations.
When working in London in 1970, a colleague 'M' wanted to go to the Bath festival at Shepton Mallet over the weekend and suggested I tag along as we both wanted to go but not alone. As M's parents lived in the near of the event, we could train down on the Friday after work, stay overnight and get to the gig early.
We arrived at the concert and within a short time we had lost sight of each other among the 150.000 crowd that had turned up. One of the problems been on ones todd, is when one needs to spend a penny. I only had one option, to pack my rucksack and leave the patch of muddy ground I had squatted on.The picture above right is a scan of my program from the event. As I didn't have a camera at the time I've borrowed one from Terry Farebrother to show what it was like.
Even if M had been there holding the fort, I'm not sure if I would have be able to find him again after my long sojourn to the distance toilets. I can’t remember that much about the music (no I was not high) apart from my favourite group Pink Floyd who played for the first time Atom Heart Mother.
The live music went on late into the night, delayed mainly due to the difficulty getting the groups in and out of the area. At about one in the morning they were playing music from tape and it didn't sound like it was going to stop at all. As I had long given up trying to hassle a sleeping space among all those bodies and with the loud music in the background I decided to go for a walk to get away from it all.
The country lanes were dark and deserted and I had no idea where I was going. By the time the music had died down to the level of my tinnitus, I started to look around for somewhere to sleep. Eventually I reached a village and on the outskirts, a church. I went and sat on the steps trying to decide what to do next, it must have been about two o’clock by this time. It was either start back without a nap or crash where I was. I was beyond caring where I put my head down at this point.
There must have been some moonlight as I could see outlines of gravestones. Never one for missing the opportunity of wandering through a graveyard even at this late hour, I set off. Walking back and forth along the rows of graves, I found two that looked newly occupied. They were just mounds of fresh earth waiting for their boarders and there in the incline between them a perfect place to layout my sleeping bag. Without further ado, I was flat out and "dead" to the world!
The next thing I remember was being suddenly awake. It was light and peaceful. I was disoriented for a moment, then realised where I was, turned over and dropped back into sleep.
And then there was this bell ringing somewhere off stage..
I was suddenly back again, this time with a panic building up due not to my current location, but because it was Sunday morning and the bell meant human activity in the church. The last thing I wanted was to be found taking up real-estate space in a graveyard! I packed my rucksack and moved off as quickly as possible.
There was no irate vicar running after me with his cassock flapping in the wind, no little old lady with an arm full of flowers for the altar, fainting as I sat up saying in a husky voice "good morning dear".
Only this bleary-eyed gestalt moving in the direction of the village wanting an egg and bacon sandwich and a hot cup of tea to stop a rumbling stomach.
It was a long wait until the rumbling subsided; only in London on the Monday morning did I feel back in the land of the living.
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