Summer Solstice 2000

Summer Solstice 2000

Picture the scene. As the sun sets slowly over the village of Avebury, five tired and hungry Pagans stand on a hill slowly sipping their mead and idly playing a game of ‘Spot the Pagan’ in amongst the hoards of travellers and hippies that have descended on this normally sleepy Henge. Like us, they are only here for a rest stop on their way to a slightly more famous Henge for a very famous rite.

Tomorrow morning, the sun will rise on its longest journey all year; for tomorrow is the Summer Solstice and we are all heading for Stonehenge to celebrate. We wander around the stones for a time, while to the east a group of sheep have formed a perfect circle, no doubt in some Ovine Midsummer Ritual of their own.

Midsummer is, after Samhain, arguably the most important Sabbat of the year. It marks the point at which the God’s power has waxed to its height – the apex of the solar year. It is a time when we celebrate life in all its forms, and, like most Sabbats, it’s also about shagging. At the same time, we also mark the return of the darkness of winter, which is necessary for the cycle to be complete. Without the dark, the light would mean nothing. Without the cold, we would not feel the warmth.

I may be mistaken, but I believe this was the first time Stonehenge had been publicly opened for the Solstice since 1986. The Druids of many orders had fought hard to gain access for all, and that was exactly what was going to happen.

We leave Avebury to the hoards and drive away, passing many corn circles and what appears to be a mobile accident between a Harley and a Reliant Robin. Food, or the local equivalent, is taken in a chip shop in Salisbury before we head for the Henge. A man with two large glow sticks guides us to a huge floodlit field and we park.

We don robes, Athames, Staves and, sadly, nemises (picture a nun’s wimple all in white) before starting the walk to Stonehenge itself. On the way we pass a stream of dog walkers who, having failed to read the ‘no dogs’ sign, are now returning to the car park. As we arrive, security guards are evicting a very loudly drunk person. It almost feels like a festival.

We walk under a long archway of Staves and Swords held by Druids; some warmly greeting us and wishing us a happy Solstice, others smiling slightly and staring at something that probably only they could see. Then we arrive at the Henge itself.

The stones are brightly lit by a harsh blue floodlight near the visitor’s centre, giving the whole area an eerie look. A small group of Celtic folk musicians are sitting in the centre of the Stones filling the air with drums, fiddle and flute. Later on a saxophonist joins in.

I had been inside Stonehenge once before and then I was surprised at how lifeless it seemed. Now the situation could hardly be any further from that – the circle is filled with throngs of travellers and drummers, along with Druids trying to stop people from standing on the stones. One formidable lady starts smiting down the offenders with her stave, much to the amusement of onlookers. And yet the Stones themselves still seem quite impassive to the whole situation. The power is there, but it’s quiet, for now.

Eventually we find the Insular Order and join them for a consecration rite – of a beautiful bronze (pretend it’s gold) sickle for their chief herbalist. Then we are left to our own devices during the five-hour wait until sunrise.

No one really knows how, why or by whom Stonehenge was built. Certainly the special alignment that makes this a desired location for Midsummer can hardly be a coincidence. On the Summer Solstice, the sun will rise exactly over the Heel Stone, casting a shadow onto the Altar Stone with the Circle itself.

This is the event we are all here to see, but the growing cloud cover makes this seem unlikely. There is already a cold wind, and now it starts to rain. Perfect. Despite the thick jumper I am wearing and my general indifference to cold, I am beginning to wish my robe was made of something a little thicker. I retreat to the relative shelter of the Henge itself and wander around for a while, recharging my Stave and Athame on the Stones. Then I foolishly try to talk to one of the Stones, giving myself an extremely bad headache – don’t try this at home, kids, megaliths is bigger than you!

One damn fool chimney climbs one of the megalithic arches, causing a great many Druids to grip their Swords tighter with cold, calculating looks on their faces. If I were him, I would be far, far away by now; the Otherworld, possibly.

Out on the field, a village of tents has appeared. English Heritage forbade tents as they can damage the thin topsoil, but the police and security guards obviously haven’t the heart to stop them in the growing chill. We don’t have a tent, but try with partial success to make one using only a Stave and a plastic bin liner. The TV and radio crews wander around interviewing people about the Stones and the Solstice.

Gradually the sky lightens and all eyes turn to the cloud-filled north-east. The IOD return and I am somehow persuaded to carry their standard – a large purple velvet flag with a Gryphon on it. Unfortunately this acts as a sail, and I am very nearly blown into the air by the cutting wind. We walk to the north-east side of the Circle, between the temple proper and the Heel Stone, and wait for the sun.

A large Circle is hastily cast and Dylan ap Thuin, Arch Druid of the Insular Order, reads some poetry. An extremely delirious man runs into the Circle and rants at Dylan and the assembled crowds until kind hands lead him away. Two OBOD members treat us to a song and then we all recite the Universal Druids’ Prayer, all the while with the TV cameras watching.

As the impending dawn approaches, the Circle becomes a pair of parallel lines, forming an avenue along which the shadow would be cast if we could actually see the sun. A beer bellied streaker parades around shamelessly. I know it was cold, but not that cold, surely?

At around 4:45 on the morning of the 21^st June 2000, the sun theoretically rises over the Heel Stone. No Midsummer ritual awaits to welcome it, disappointingly, but someone blows a horn at where they think it is, so that’s all right. In the grey morning light, the assembled Druids look at one another and, perhaps, wonder why it is that white is the traditional colour for robes when black hides the mud stains so much better.

We retire to the warmth of the hired car, where hot tea awaits. It has been a very cold, wet night, but it was certainly an experience. The atmosphere alone was worth the long journey from Coventry to Wiltshire, and is not something I’ll soon forget, despite the disappointing cloud cover. From a Pagan point of view, the whole affair was a little more suspect. The absence of a Midsummer ritual was interesting given the sheer quantity of Druids present, but the Solstice was celebrated after a fashion, and perhaps that is all you need.

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