This is what it looked like from the stage, on the afternoon of the second day. The crowd is happily enjoying the entertainment, many of them on their feet and waving their arms. It wasn’t hard to be happy that day. It was warm, dry, and you and half a million or so other people were listening to some great music and taking a memorable break from the mundane.
It felt great just to be there.
I was there in 1970. The first nite we were evicted from the arena and slept between the furrows of a ploughed field just behind Desolation Row, in brown paper sleeping bags…bought on-site for 8 bob? Most of the next 4 days were spent in a sleeping bag left of stage (looking out), maybe 50 yards back. I had a 17 yr old blonde Canadian chic in my bag. I was 19 and at Nottingham Uni. On Friday nite we went down to the stage…under the left tower…for Terry Reid, who was known in Canada (but not in Scunthorpe). Food was hard to come by…a fresh pineapple for 10 bob. We lived on fags…60 a day. I bought orange loon pants for 2 pounds. The area around our nearest tap became a muddy quagmire. The bogs were disgusting…we took a ferry over to Lymnyngton on Sunday morning to go to the loo & buy newspapers. One day I washed my hair under a cold tap while Donovan sang Sunshine Superman. I looked up at the stars as Moody Blues sang Nites in White Satin. I reared up once in my sleeping Bag to hear Hendrix, then collapsed back into sleep. We were wrecked by then. We pitched a tent for a nite when the music was over…total devastation everywhere is how I remember it. The experience probably changed my life, but then I was well up for it anyway. We did Lincoln (twice), Weeley, Bickershaw & Cambridge subsequently, but it was never the same again. I saw the chic in Toronto 4 years later but we had nothing to say to each other. I still have my ticket stub…5 pounds I think. But no photographs…the film got stuck in the winder and ripped. Those were the days, my friend….