If there’s a burning pile of wood with a healthy dose ofspiritualism,I’m there.
I spent my childhood playing amid the tree-lined ramparts of a 2,000-year-oldIron Ageringfort, plonked in a field (the farmer who owned it left it untouched for fear the fairies inhabiting it would smite him if he interfered).
As a moody teen, I sought sanctuary in the sea ofdaffodilsthat bloom in its centre in Spring. But others would come to restore their energy with a hand placed on the stones laid around the clearing’s edge.
To me, that’s what spiritualism is about. You don’t have to believe in the mystical to appreciate a moment of meditation in a peaceful place.
As such, I’ve hitchhiked to and from the rolling green hills of Uisneach, the ‘sacred centre of Ireland’, to celebrate the coming ofSummer,and last year, I danced around a bonfire (in various states of undress) near an enchanted waterfall, to welcome in the Slavic solstice.
So when I had the opportunity to attend Solstice on the Mount, a sobersummersolstice festival on a 4,000-acre country estate, I was skeptical.
It takes place at Wasing, the 4,000-acre Berkshire estate owned by former Prime MinisterDavid Cameron’s Eton-educated cousin.
It has sprawling grounds scattered with an old barn, a dovecot and 15th century chapel, much of it renovated for dining and housing wedding guests. Not exactly the environment I’m used to.
At Wasing, which is large enough to constitute its own parish, I wasn’t 100% convinced I’d be able to tap into my spiritual side.
But Iwastempted – and the chance to see indie musician (and this year’s headliner) Nick Mulvey play for the first time in 11 years persuaded me.
When I arrived, hours before the 5pm kick-off, I checked into the old blacksmith’s cottage where I’d call home for the night, with a sprawling bed and wet room. Then, I had a chance to explore the grounds, miles of which are clad in diverse and broadleaved trees.
I wandered beneath the canopy down a dirt track leading to a lake, brown from the silt lining its shallow bed, and warm from the sun.
A jetty jutted into the water where the first dragonflies I’ve seen in maybe two decades hovered above the surface, and stick-like fish meandered below.
On the jetty sat a metal basin full of ice, where, if bravery permits, you can submerge yourself and reap the benefits of perked up mood.
Having watched one woman slide neck deep in the basin in one exhale, I held my breath as she calmly controlled hers.
It was trance-like enough just watching – and soon, I’d convinced myself to hazard a go.
Slowly I slid to my torso before hopping out as my shins began to ache. I’ll give anything a try, but to me that seemed an unnecessary torture when lying in the sun is surely just as restorative.
Thank god for the sauna just ashore, with a two-sided mirror to watch the lake surface shimmer from the sun shining through towering trees.
Soon, it was up to the so-called ‘sacred glen’ where the festival was held.
The stage stood at the base of the eponymous Mount, up a trail past bowls of smouldering sage and a tree stumps sprinkled with bluebells. An offering, I guess.
Raised above the audience, the guitars of Rodrigo y Gabriela wailed, trembled and thundered as they paced across a stage as the glimmer of a setting sun sank behind it.
Nick Mulvey had the crowd bouncing and swaying, but I’m never one to hover in one spot for too long.
And the woods of Wasing offer plenty to explore, even when the estate isn’t hosting yoga workshops or organic pumpkin picking.
Beyond the watching crowd, queues formed for food trucks serving samosas, lentil curry, hot dogs and Vietnamese noodles.
I’d have taken a photo of my falafel bowl doused in sauce and sprinkled with pickles if I hadn’t devoured it so fast.
Through the trees, I walked tightrope along a fallen trunk beside a clearing full of purple foxgloves, at least 6ft high.
In another clearing, there was an almost perfect circle where, when the acts on stage had bowed, the audience filtered through to sit in rings around a fire.
Everything was thought of, from the fire guardians ensuring the crowd stayed a safe distance from the flames, to the enchanting plucking of a harp and the soothing, almost whistle-like vocals, of Ajeet and her band, whose Irish folk songs I instinctively hummed along with.
As midnight neared, the focus shifted to a field where AWARË’s multi-instrumental trance guided some survivors all the way to dawn, to greet the rising sun.
Like most, however, I never quite made it that far. Trust me, I returned to my cottage for a nap, and tried waking up for that 3am alarm I’d been advised to set, but the bed was too comfy and the day’s adventures too exhausting to keep my eyes awake.
But while it was a long day – the longest in fact – at no point did I want it to end.
A festival without booze
I’d been slightly wary of not having access to a single pint.
They come in handy if you find yourself needing to pass the time in a moment of boredom. But that moment never came.
I’ve also no problem dancing like a fool, with or without alcohol, as the holes I’ve worn into my shoes from day-long raves can attest.
Sure, a drink maybe could have numbed the tiredness forcing my eyes to close, and kept me up to the early hours for sunrise.
But it was easier to relax without rowdy surrounds, to embrace my partner without keeping an eye watching over my shoulder, and to find highs in music, dancing or nature, anything other than a substance.
It meant every moment was stretched out and there to enjoy, without it disappearing in a blur.
Conventional wisdom says time flies when you’re having fun, but here it was like time ceased to exist along with the outside world.
Solstice on the Mount is the product of landlord Joshua Dugdale’s need, like many owners of country estates, to make the property pay for itself now the map-making empire that built his family’s wealth is long gone.
While he stays rather conventional with its offer as a wedding venue, he’s also sought to imbue it with a spirituality he’s gathered through travels around the world.
Over breakfast the next morning, I put it to Andrew Perkins, the estate’s chief executive, that it seems an odd approach for a place like this, to break down barriers and welcome in the hordes.
He told Metro.co.uk: ‘The main thing for us is creating a space in nature where people can come and experience nature and be present.’
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The festival was more tame and manicured than I would usually enjoy, but all in all, I’m inclined to say it’s worked.
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