Glastonbury free festival 1977

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GLASTONBURY.

1970-1978.

The 77 festival PA system

Press report

FWS report on the 77 festival.

July 1977.

The Glorious and Magical 7-7-77 Glastonbury Fayre.

by Roger Hutchinson
I had been very busy with my work as a inflatable artist (don't laugh!) and I had heard that Glastonbury was on after a big gap of six years, so I worked hard in the studio to create some space to allow me some time off. The selling point of the tatty handouts was of the special date of the 7 - 7 - 77 and I was excited by the idea of going to the place of the most famous free festival in the '70's. I had a copy of the three album Glastonbury '71, which, the night before I left, I played the Edgar Broughton Band side of the pounding and life enhancing - Out Demons Out !

Early the next morning I solo hitched down to Somerset from Hatfield in Hertfordshire via the A1, M25, M4 and was dropped off by the junction for the M5 in lashing rain that soaked me through to the skin in seconds. Through the murk and spray I spotted a slim figure with a rucksack and tent heading towards a bridge and I could see that he had good sense, as this would offer some shelter from the elements. I joined him and bid him hello and we found we had a common goal in the Glastonbury Festival . We exchanged names and broke fast together while we waited for the rain to ease - no one picks up dripping hikers. Steve was on his second day of travelling down from Tyne side, he'd had spent the night in a hedge by the M5 near Birmingham and now looked it!

After an hour the rain had kept up it's steady downpour and we decided to try our luck and immediately a small Austin Healy sports car screeched to a halt and we squeezed in. The driver was a botanist on his way to do some field work in Devon and had felt sorry for us due to the rain- not that the car was very dry as water dripped from the tatty canvas hood down our necks. It was not long before he turned off at the Weston-Super-Mare junction and we got out into warm steamy sunshine by a deserted B road roundabout and pretty soon we realised that we were truly stuck.

    This was all the more frustrating as the Tor was a distant blue pimple in the east. The occasional car ignored our thumbs as we attempted to travel out across the billiard table flat Levels towards our goal. Just then a third festival traveller who was coming the other way joined us. He had been trying for hours to get out of this dead spot and was making his way back to the M5 to try from there so we bid goodbye and again we were left with bird song and the buzzin of de bees. Together we decided that walking to our treasured objective was better than being ignored and off we traipsed, crossing the M5 and zigzagging along the grid of lanes.
     After a few hours and it being a sunny mid-afternoon, a small pub we chanced upon became a welcome spot to take a break . Soon we were sitting in the nearly empty bar with a pint of the finest in front of each of us. Early that morning I had taken up the offer of several slimming tablets that had been prescribed to my overweight housemate and these had had a maximum effect on the tongue. As I nattered away in the quiet dark bar, we were approached by a straight bloke who joined us and partook in talking enjoyable but complete bollocks like me. He was obviously half-cut but he replenished our drinks and the idea of the festival became less urgent as we sunk them and started a third round.
     At some point he offered to drive us to our destination and we stumbled out into the bright daylight again and climbed into his ratty old open top Triumph Herald. We lurched away in the right general direction at some speed and it was only then he revealed that his purpose for taking us was to give him back up in a confrontation with his wife's lover in Glastonbury. Steve looked round at me unhappily from the front passenger seat wondering desperately what he had got himself into, as I was myself. But fate- in the form of a spilled load of hay encountered around a bend -delivered us from the need to join him. The car slammed into the bales , left the road and lodged itself in the ditch. Fortunately we had wisely belted up on my insistence back at the pub and all survived the accident but Steve and I thought it prudent to leave quickly on foot before things got any more complicated. Within an hour we walked through the town but only knowing that the festival was not at Pilton looked around for someone to tell us where to go. Blank stares met our enquiries so we went to the Tor in the hope of meeting someone there and a friendly freak, just about to make the ascent, pointed us in the direction of Street to the south.
    We wearily turned round and headed out of Glastonbury with our thumbs out - but although it was clear that it was the right road no one stopped, so we again took to our feet . As the festival grew ever closer our anticipation and excitement rose to fight our fatigue as dusk fell. As the lane climbed up through a dense tunnel of trees, we could hear a steady beat of syncopated drumming growing louder and ever louder until we burst into the crowded site through a hole in the hedge as (for Christ's sake!) the Edgar Broughton Band turned on the works full volume as 'Out Demons Out'! took majestic flight. It was a stunning arrival and entrance to what was to be the best festival I attended that decade.

We joined the audience and bopped happily about to their final song of the night - then a drink was the next priority and Steve and I chanced upon a tea stall where we expressed our delight of making it there and ordered two cups each. A fellow tea seeker asked us if we wanted to score some dope and I nodded above the roar of the rock and he in turn produced a big chunk of resin and indicated ten notes which surprised me as it appeared far too cheap and this doubt must of registered on my face. He then took umbrage at my doubts of his offer but he handed it to me and indicated that I roll one up there and then - which I did without another word. The soothing balm of very good dope was just what we both craved, after a day like that and we thanked him profusely while handing over the cash and the Festival really began for us.
Steve met up with his northern friends and offered me a space in his small tent, which at some point that night I made good use of - sleeping off the exertions of the very long day.

Left: the stage , Glastonbury 1977.

( click on the images to see larger versions.)

The next day revealed the delights of the oddly shaped site, which was spread for three quarters of a mile along a beautiful wooded ridge that was managed by the National Trust. In the largest open space, at the east end, was the main stage and many tents while many others had established their camps beyond the stage in the undulating woodland and glades. The western boundary of the site was marked by a tall stone folly from which the famous Tor could be seen miles away to the north. On the south side of the long narrow site was a steep grassy drop of what seemed to be hundreds of feet down to the Somerset Levels that were laid out as a verdant chessboard stretching all the way to the sea. It was a grand sight and most people spent sometime, over the daze, sitting grokking the view. Right along the north side of the site was a lane with wide wooded verges that allowed offsite parking that was patrolled by the occasional friendly copper. Because of the geographically fragmented nature of the long thin site it is difficult to estimate the numbers who attended the '77 fest but a safe figure would be around 3000.

I don't remember much about who played, where the drinking water came from, what I ate, how long it lasted or even how I got home again as these were inconsequential matters in the face of such a sound and happy gathering. I met many friends from previous festivals and even from my days at primary school in Harold Wood, in Essex. The weather was good generally with the odd damp spell that served to keep things green.

There were several incidents that remaining my memories of those long days. It was there one night, to one side of a noisy stage, I saw the strange creation of a future friend who I was to come to know later as Professor Desmond Kay. An 8' high white pyramid had suddenly appeared at the edge of the tight arena, which suddenly burst into brilliance and offered a stunning but subtle lightshow. An audience was attracted who sat watching mesmerised carefully the multicoloured webs of colours weave and twitch around on the pristine surface of the small but perfect apparition. Ever curious to see how this spectacle was achieved, (I was involved with a light show for years) I crept around the back and peered through a crack to see a slow motor driven arm stroking the underside of a crumpled sheet of mirror foil which caused it to fracture and wobble. It acted as a mirror to a small and cheap liquid colour wheel projector with the resulting reflection projected randomly across the faces of the pyramid to stunning effect and more people were watching it by the end of the set than those watching the band!

While exploring and seeking a nice quiet place for a dump one morning, at the eastern end of the ridge way, I entered a closely packed conifer plantation that grew out of the side of the steep hill. It was an over-grown brown jungle of brambles and dead undergrowth and I stumbled came across a sort of trail that wandered down into the gloom of the trees. Motivated by the need for a more level spot I climbed down to a sort of dark den made of branches and brambles between the tree trunks and as I got out my toilet roll I spotted a metal trunk at the back. On inspection, it contained a large number of women's clothes - dresses and underwear and a large black notebook. Turning the pages, reading handwritten entries here and there I discovered that it was message pad between two local closet transvestites who visited the den to dress up ! The last entry from one to the other said that he was keeping clear from the place as he had noticed scruffy hippies setting up camp up on the ridge way. The other had obviously seen the same and wrote about him being equally put out by our presence I felt slightly aggrieved at this slight, and I found the pencil and put my entry in saying that they shouldn't be afraid of us as we were far more accepting of individual needs and if they did read it come along and enjoy the freedom!

There was a beautiful iridescent light blue fabric dress that I stole and after replacing the book and closing the trunk carefully made my way back to camp (after a brief squat!) Steve and his mates were bemused at first when I retold the tale over a spliff but they became disgusted with the very idea of what these men did furtively to express their feminine side of their personalities. Afterwards I reflected on the thought that I had been probably a little optimistic in generally how we were liberated from society's straightjacket but the blue dress made a great camp flag!

Some of the folk stayed with their vehicles offsite by the lane and visiting some friends from Essex one morning, I was invited inside their Commer 10cwt van for a puff. No sooner than Greg had all the doings out on a book cover than a police motorcyclist pulled up along side the wide-open side door. Without a thought, I leaped out and stood between him and the open door of the van. The patrolman switched off the powerful machine and removed his visored helmet and turned round to look directly at me. I glanced sideways at the door and noticed an unappetising joke menu chalked onto a blackboard with dishes like 'Rat Stew' and 'Snail Fricassee' and my mouth took over. 'Look lively in there with the pots Sarah, it looks like we've got a hungry customer'. Turning to the bemused policeman I launched into an Eric Idle style hard sell for the best of the menu on the board, while behind Greg, ensconced in the richly patterned Indian cushions, was stashing all of his gear out of view while Sarah just froze waiting for a more realistic prompt for action. 'Are you sure I can't entice you to steaming bowl of donkey penises?' With a sickly grin the poor man plonked his helmet on and turned the ignition then after gingerly reversing out of the tight space roared off down the hill leaving us panting. Greg and Sarah were agog at my inventive turn that had save us from an embarrassing and troubled encounter with the law. My reward was a well stacked spliff, smoked the other side of the hedge - just to be safe!

The accompanying photos show a number of other brief events like the stallion that pissed a flood down into two guys tents as they were rolling a number and the excitement of the young kids as their dad flew a kite out over the south chasm on a golden afternoon to the encouragement of other view seekers.

But all to soon it was over and time to head back to home and reality although how that was achieved I haven't a clue!

Hi.
I'm one of the two guys who organised the 1977 Glastonbury festival. We were both working for an organisation called 'bit information' an alternative help and information exchange service which operated from an old building in west London. BIT's reason for the festival was the date. We had already done the stoned-henge festivals prior to that and we just followed the free one that took place in 1971.

Bands were attracted to play at the festival by word of mouth. BIT as an organisation had a good reputation with theunderground music scene, and so bands were happy to play.
Our involvement was squatting the field, buying the first tanker of water (the farmer gave us a stand pipe later) taking a free food kitchen there. In your pictures, look for a large yellow tent, that was the BIT tent.
The water for that festival came from water trucks we hired from the local water board, they came to £30 each, which was paid from collections we made. I was also the author of the Stoned Henge and Glastonbury newsletters that came out every day. The newsletters were created on an old Gestetner Duplicating machine,everything was written onto a skin and then duplicated normally once in the morning and once in the evenings.

We also helped with the Stonehenge festivals as well as some of the smaller ones like Rhayder in 1976 where I did the first aid. I don't have any pics from those days (moved too many times and lost them all) but if you look through yours and find a huge yellow tent, that was us.
We also had a free food kitchen going there as well as a notice board etc. hope this has been of some help, I'll happily answer questions or send more as I think of it.
Alan Strom .

I've been doing a bit of 'looking back' recently and knew that I had attended Glastonbury either in 1977 or 1978. Anyway I stumbled across your site and from the descriptions and pictures there I can definately say it was 1977.
I travelled up from London in an old green Bedford van with my friends band Staffix' who I roadied for.
The driver (and band 'manager') John Curle, had heard that there was a free festival going on and decided that Staffix should unleash their music to the unsuspecting public there!
The band comprised:-
Hal Malik - Rhythm Guitar & Vocals (Last heard of living in South London) Matthew Ashman - Lead Guitar & Vocals (Matthew later went on to join The Kameras, followed by Adam and The Ants, then Bow Wow Wow, He sadly died in
1995) Jasper Stainthorpe - Bass (Jasper later formed The Kameras with myself and Matthew. Years later Jasper and I started Then Jerico. We are still in regular contact), Geoff Harvey- Drums (Last heard of running a Pinball Machine shop in London) Myself, Cliff Lawrence - Roadie
We were all quite unprepared for the sights that met us on arrival - being (relatively) innocent London chaps. My favourite memory of that day was during the set when Matthew was performing his solo, a naked hippy chick got up and danced right in front of him - I'll always remember the bemused look he had on his face when he turned around to look at me - he was only just 16 at the time!
After the Staffix finished their set, to desultory applause from the audience, we went off for a look around the site. We all ended up getting completely stoned in a tepee with some guy who was doing tattoos. We stayed until very late then made our decidedly unsteady way back to London.
Hope this is of some interest to you!
Cheers,
Cliff Lawrence

Glastonbury Free Festival 7.7.77 A festival to celebrate the 7th of the 7th, 77. We all quietly observed the 7th second of the 7th minute of the 7th hour (that would be pm - not many of us awake at am!). I don't remember any music at this festival at all - just people with impromptu sound systems and acoustic setups.But my all-time favourite festival - the most fantastic, joyful atmosphere, with a manageable number of people all in the same head space.

Edward Collier

Greetings, music lovers!
Should anyone be interested, I was one half of a duo who played at the 7-7-77 Glastonbury free festival. We, Andy Francis (guitar) and myself (keyboards), rejoiced in the name "Rotwang" (after Professor Rotwang in Fritz Lang's "Metropolis"). This unfortunately is recorded as Rotbang in the NME Press Review to be found elsewhere and equally unfortunately described as Punkoid which we most certainly were not - more spaced-out drifty guitar / synth stuff.
The day began, following my return from college at the conclusion of summer exams, with the two of us wending our way south from Gloucestershire in my Morris Minor. Through the city of Bath past Solsbury Hill, with the appropriate Peter Gabriel track ("Climbing up on Solsbury Hill / I could see the city light...) and on towards our goal. A refreshment stop at a pub nearby brought the question from the landlord "You're not with them hippies are you?" the inference being that we'd not be welcome if so, a sad reflection on the mistrust of some locals. Then onwards to...where? Butleigh, we eventually discovered. Wonderful site, all along a wooded ridge and the benefit of hot sun. What we did about food, drink and other necessities of life I cannot recall, but a pleasant time was spent around the stage tent area. I do recall the Nik Turner jam, the ace solo guitarist (although not his name sadly), plus something to do with reference to a wombat ("There he goes!"). Time drifted on and it looked as though we would not be able to play, although we had been assured earlier that it might be possible (by a topless young lady leaning in through the open window of the Minor...). Then, as it became dusk our chance came! On to the stage with the trusty Mellotron and synth, much help from the PA chaps (thanks guys!) and into our rather short set. Memories of that evening will stay forever - what seemed to be an endless vista of people stretching away along the ridge, dancers, firelight, the beauty of it all on that balmy summer evening. Seemed to go down quite well, too, for a couple of complete unknowns. Ah, happy days.
Nic Hodgson

That summer I blew up the Triumph Trident so when Glastonbury came around I was back on the bicycle. I got the train down to Bridgewater from Basingstoke and then rode on from there. On the way in, I found a cottage with a low wall and hid the stash in a gutter. I needn't have bothered as there was no security at all, at all. This particular festival seems to exist in limbo now as it definitely happened and was definitely free but it never seems to appear in the authorised chronologies of Glastonbury. I'm sure it was just outside Pilton at Worthy farm but the other reports suggest it wasn't. I also remember the big Pyramid tent but the photos look different.

On the first day, there was a huge thunderstorm that we could see coming up the valley. When it broke over us, many people stripped off and washed in the rain. The electricity lines on the pylons buzzed and hummed with all the static and water in the air. Although it started muddy, the rest of the week was clear. On 7-7-77 I met an old man who's birthday was that day and who was 77 years old. I met up with some old friends and had some dope fudge before watching Gong (or was it Here And Now).
At some stage my bicycle broke a rear spoke from carrying me, my rucksack and the old picnic tent so I had to go into Shepton Mallet to get it fixed. One night somebody tripped on the guy ropes and ripped the tent so then I improvised with the ruck sack as a double pole at one end.

On the last day I got up very early and crept across the fields. I left my stash tucked into the shoulder of an old oak tree. Of course when I left there was again no security at all, so I needn't have bothered. Anyways, as I've discovered since, you are invisible on a bicycle. The trek home saw me break another spoke, get it mended in another bicycle shop and I eventually gave up at Salisbury before getting the train the final way home to Basingstoke.

Julian Bond

Was living in Bristol at the time. The site was a local hill known as Street hill a few miles from Glastonbury, an unspoilt belt of densely wooded hillsides, the festival site consisted of a long clearing with woods either end, a dramatic view of the moors along one side of the site and a long thick hedge seperating the clearing from the road.

A tiny unobstrusive stage and lots of bands. The weather was okay and the whole event went suprisingly well. I had to go back to Bristol on the Saturday for what I thought was an important meeting, it all went pear shaped and turned out to be a total waste of time - eventually I returned to the site, but was still feeling pissed off with what had happened and was generally wondering around the site unable to shake of the desire to kick something!

I noticed a pair of congas on the stage which was silent with no bands or music, and a site full of people waiting for something to happen. I felt no one would mind if I played quietly on the congas until the next band got set up! After I'd been tapping away for a while, some of the people in front of the stage started shouting at the stage crew to get some music going, not long after, some bubbly young guy wearing a full blown red indian chieftain headress got up on the stage and began dancing to to the congas, after a while the next band began setting up, I carried on, figuring that when they were ready they would ask me to stop, instead they set up and started their set without saying anything and I carried on playing , accompanying them on their congas for the whole of their set. At the end they asked me my name and introduced me as a member of the band to the audience, don't remember the bands name or even the name of the young lovely girl who owned the congas, who gave me her and the bands address somewhere in Wales, I actually went there once and they were'nt in!

A small, modest, wonderful event. Lazy summer days and sweet music.

Tom