Most people
probably know Glastonbury
for its rock festival, an event which often seems most noteworthy for
its mud, rather than its music. The festival attracts its fair share
of alternative types – new-agers, hippies and so on, which is
perhaps not particularly surprising. What might surprise a casual
visitor to the town of Glastonbury, though, is that they will
encounter the same alternative spirit as a noticeable presence. It
seems slightly out of place because the town itself could stand in
for any number of similar places scattered throughout the length and
breadth of England. What they do not have, of course, is Glastonbury
Tor.
It rises on the
outskirts of the town,
a steep isolated hill topped by a tall stone tower. It is not large
as geographical features go, certainly not compared with the sort of
mountains that might loom over an Alpine town, but then that is the
nature of the English countryside. Glastonbury may be a small English
town adjacent to a small English hill, but it is no less striking for
that. And it has to be admitted that as a landmark it stands out
starkly from the flat, gentle Somerset countryside which lies around.
It really starts to impress, though, when one climbs it. Perhaps it
is the fact that it is almost a part of the town which makes the
sudden transition to an ancient, pagan world all the more striking.
As one ascends the winding path to the summit the countryside begins
to stretch out on either side, and the town recedes to a distant set
of street patterns. The flat countryside is spread all around, the
ridges of occasional hills rising from it like whales from a green,
velvet sea. Ahead is the tall stone tower, standing alone and
pointing to the sky with an unmistakeable symbolism – this is
where
our thoughts are supposed to rise above the mundane.
That was
certainly true for our
ancestors, who found this a spiritual place; so much so, in fact,
that the Christian establishment felt obliged to build a church on
the tor to reclaim the site. They shouldn’t have bothered
– all
that remains of the church is its lonely tower, while the cults
inspired by the original pagan beliefs flourish. Whatever
one’s
views on such new-age religions, as an exercise in collective
nose-thumbing at authority one has to admire it. And the beliefs are
certainly powerful and widely held: a few miles from Glastonbury, on
a quiet lane on the edge of a village, sits a pleasant and unassuming
house. It’s claim to notoriety is that it is reputedly owned
by a
Hollywood star, who bought it – if one should believe in such
things – because it sits on a ‘line of
force’.
Mystical
notions aside it is undeniable
that the location, looking out over the rolling green of the Somerset
levels, has a certain spiritual peace about it – no doubt a
welcome
change after life in tinsel-town. On the bright winter’s
morning on
which we walked past it, though, it was anything but peaceful: a
crowd of starlings had congregated in a neighbouring tree and were
making an almighty din, chattering continuously. One could not help
but speculate: did their animal senses detect the ley-line running
beneath the tree, which our more limited capabilities could only
guess at? Maybe – but if they really were so in tune with
things,
then why should they not have picked up on the fact that a famous
celebrity lived nearby? Perhaps this was the first recorded
observation of a gathering of avian paparazzi.
On balance, I
think not: most likely it
is an example of that phenomenon which gives most trouble to human
intellects – pure coincidence. Having said that, it is hard
to
escape the conclusion that there is something about green, open
spaces which strikes a chord deep within us. The weather on the
morning of our walk could hardly be described as glorious, being
early January, but at least it was too early for the traditional,
noisy English summer pastimes of mowing the lawn and trimming the
hedge. Somehow, looking out over the idyllic landscape made work and
Monday morning, with all its attendant irritations, seem as distant
as the far off hills. Why worry about something of such small
importance compared with the age-old narrative of the landscape?
There appears,
in fact, to be strong
scientific evidence emerging that the quality of the landscape has a
profound effect upon us: according to Dr Richard Fuller from
Sheffield University our well-being is enhanced by
‘biologically
complex surroundings’, by which one assumes he means nature.
And,
if this is true, the question arises as to whether different
environments evoke different levels of well-being. Could it be the
case that there is something in the landscape around Glastonbury
which really does have a measurable effect on us, sending us away
mentally refreshed and uplifted?
Perhaps the
hippies and new-agers are
on to something after all – a rather sobering thought.