Elizabeth Hand - Wylding Hall

I didn’t go to Wylding Hall that day with any thought of snapping photographs. Tom Haring rang up my grandfather and asked if he knew someone could help carry boxes back and forth from the lorry. Cables, things like that. My grandfather volunteered me.

“Make sure you get paid,” he said, but I didn’t care about that. I was excited to go to Wylding Hall and to see the hippies.

At the last minute, I thought of bringing my camera along. I’d bought a roll of film and loaded it, but hadn’t taken any pictures yet. I must have thought this would be a good opportunity to take some photographs. It was, and then some.

Tom Haring came by the house and picked me up. He was very nice, very professional. Introduced himself to my mother — my father was out in the field.

Then we drove on to Wylding Hall. He asked me if I’d ever heard of Windhollow Faire. I lied and said yes. I had no idea who they were. We got there and he introduced me around to everyone. Ashton Moorehouse was the only one really looked like a proper rock and roller — he had a beard and long hair and the full hippie regalia, high boots and pirate shirt.

The others had long hair but they seemed normal. Just a few years older than me, very friendly and ordinary. Which was reassuring, but a bit of a disappointment. Lesley Stansall, the girl singer, she seemed a bit larger than life. Loud voice and always waving her hands around, making a lot of noise. But friendly.

The only one seemed a bit peculiar was Julian Blake. To me he seemed snobbish, though probably he was just stoned.

And I was intimidated by how good-looking he was. I was all mixed up about boys and girls — I was attracted to boys, but that was such a horrible thing I couldn’t even think it. I’d never heard the word “homosexual,” and every other word that described it was awful.

So, when Julian came shambling into the kitchen and said, “Hi,” I just mumbled and stared at the floor. The place had a funny smell, like church incense. It wasn’t until that night, with Jonathan, that I found out it was hashish. I was such an innocent.

Lesley

I was the one who suggested we record outdoors. It just seemed so obvious to me, although Ashton and Will thought we should do it inside, in the rehearsal room. Which was also an obvious choice. I always thought the rehearsal room was the one space that didn’t feel like it had a history attached to it. There wasn’t this weird sense that we were intruding there, like I got in other parts of Wylding Hall. Whatever history that room had, it was our history. We laid it down, made our mark upon the place. I hope it stayed there.

But it was such a gorgeous day, it seemed a shame to be indoors. The garden was in full bloom — such a magical spot that was! Like something out of a book. Old apple trees and blossoming cherry, stock, and delphiniums and primroses. Even some narcissus, and they were long out of season. The garden seemed to have its own climate. Things bloomed whenever they wanted, I think. There was a low brick wall around it, very old; the bricks had crumbled so that the back opened out onto the lawn, which was even more overgrown than the garden. Ashton and Will found old-fashioned scythes in one of the outbuildings, and they cut away some of the tall grass so we could put our instruments out there, and the microphones. They looked like they’d stepped out of the middle ages. I wish we had photographs of that.

Ashton

It took a few hours to get everything set up in the garden. First, we had to hack away at the brush. Then we had to bring in all the cables and power cords and amplifiers and microphones, all of us tripping over brambles and rosebushes. Chairs from the kitchen and the piano stool for Julian. We were all stoned out of our minds, which didn’t help matters. But finally, it was all done, and we settled down and played.

I won’t go into it again — you have the album. But it was like an enchantment, that one afternoon. We played till the sun was low in the sky, but it was still daylight, golden light. Magic hour, film people call it. Tom had brought a teenager from the village, a boy named Billy Thomas. I didn’t know he had a camera until he got it from the lorry and came running back through the grass. He shot an entire roll of film, mostly after we’d finished playing and were goofing about or standing around doing nothing.

Those were the photos made it onto the album cover and gatefold. He didn’t get them developed until autumn, so we didn’t see any of them for quite some time. Quite good photos for a kid, I thought. Not what I’d call technically polished, but that’s part of their charm, isn’t it? The girl, well, I can’t account for that. I don’t think anyone can.

Billy Thomas

I lay there on the grass in the sun and listened while they played. Julian Blake, he offered me a hash pipe, which was the first time I ever smoked. I went into a trance, almost. I wasn’t thinking about taking photos. I wasn’t thinking about anything, except I liked watching the drummer, Jonathan. He was funny, bit of a clown. I remember he took out two ping-pong paddles and started keeping time by slapping them against his thighs. Everyone cracked up, you can hear it if you listen, they didn’t edit that out.

Jon didn’t seem any older than me. He was short, which might be why I thought he was young. I thought he looked like Michael Palin. He kept peering at me from behind his kit; he wanted to see if I was laughing at his jokes. I was — we all were. When they finished up, it was about four or five in the afternoon. Ashton and Will began tossing around a soccer ball. Don’t know where that came from. Lesley went into the house and came out with gallon bottles of cheap wine. Pure rotgut. Julian seemed cheerful; he was quieter than the rest, but not what I’d call withdrawn. A bit shy, maybe, but very nice.

I helped Tom Haring roll up the cables back into the lorry, and then he sent me off so I could be with the others. He wanted to check what he’d recorded, make sure everything had worked correctly.

I looked out and saw them cavorting in the garden. It looked like a painting. They all looked very old-fashioned — their clothes were old-fashioned. That was the style. What you see on the album cover, that’s how they dressed the entire time they were playing. Lesley in her long peasant dress. Ashton dressed like a pirate. Will looked a bit like my grandfather when he was young, in his wedding photograph. Julian had on a corduroy jacket and stovepipe trousers and Cuban boots, everything well worn.

Jonno was the only one looked like he was in the right century, jeans and a t-shirt, except that he was wearing a fool’s cap with bells on it. I didn’t make a big deal that I was taking pictures, but I wasn’t secretive. It was just a lark. I wasn’t thinking much about it at all. There were twenty frames on that roll, and I’d already taken three of my mum and dad.

About halfway through, a great flock of birds came across the sky. I don’t know what kind they were — little birds. But such a crowd of them that, for a moment, they blotted out the sun. It was shocking, after all that brilliant sunlight.

That’s when everyone turned to look up at the sky, and I snapped that. You can see the manor house in the background, the Elizabethan towers and old chimneys, and the higgledy-piggledy garden with everyone looking up at the sky. To one side, the woods that lead to the rath. The first of those pictures was in shadow, because of the birds, but after that they flew off over the trees and the sun shone down again.

It’s amazing those photos came out at all. I really had no idea what I was doing.

Jonno

It was evening by the time we’d finished packing up. Tom decided not to drive back to London, so we had an impromptu party. Billy Thomas stayed as well. He and I, we spent the night together. Quite innocently, we both were pissed as newts, with Julian’s hash on top of that. And the sheer exhilaration of what we’d done that day! I’ve never seen Tom that happy, before or since.