Glastonbury Memories, Part II: The Chalice Well Gardens

On the morning of the day (in November, 2012) I left Glastonbury for Brighton (a three hour sprint across the south country by highway) I visited the Chalice Well Gardens, at the foot of the Tor. This is a very spiritual place, maintained as such, a meditation park open to the public, and served with shop and meeting room, a supporting society and a worldwide cadre of enchanted followers.

It is indeed an amazing place, and I had it almost to myself on that cool, grey morning. I left my luggage at the George & Pilgrim Hotel after an early breakfast and checkout, then walked the kilometre or so south-east of town, past the famous Rifleman’s Arms pub, and found myself in a truly wonderful place.

This is where the ancient legend really comes into focus. In Celtic lore, springs were holy places, and the local aquifer comes to the surface here in a spring that has run since Arthurian times and probably a great deal longer than that. The ground has iron deposits and they play their role in the lore, that Joseph of Arimathea brought the Holy Grail to a hiding place in England among the earliest Christian devotees. Thus, the iron-rich water that comes to the surface carries with it the taste of blood – that the blood of Christ is the iron in the water.

It stains the collecting ponds a deep and rusty red and visitors are cautioned to drink only a tiny amount as the mineral concentration may be harmful in quantity. Of course one tastes it, how could one not? I will never forget the blood-like tang.

The gardens were green and damp in the heavy weather, not many flowers were in bloom at such a time of year but the park was quiet and very peaceful. I remember sitting in a small, rustic shelter as rain fell softly, overlooking the green tangles and walks, and having many deep thoughts.

This was one of those moments one is in two minds about – is it better shared or experienced alone? To be alone with one’s thoughts is a very pure state, but perhaps company would bring it a new dimension. To wander those paths was to walk in the footsteps of millions over the last eight hundred years, I was very aware of this, and soaked in the atmosphere – from the ancient stonework to the ammonites embedded in the paths – which held religious significance in centuries gone by. Though it is a designed, tended garden, one feels nature very close, and it seems all faith can equally share in the energies of the spot. From various points you can see the tower of St. Michael at the summit of the Tor, which truly doubles the impact.

I stayed some hours before reluctantly making my way back to the hotel on High St. in the early afternoon to collect my luggage and meet a friend who had kindly offered me a lift across country to Brighton for the second show in the band’s tour, that evening. We met in the car park of Glastonbury Abbey and I had to admit to myself, I certainly packed a lot into those brief days!

Mike Adamson