The Myth and Magic of Glastonbury. ✨

Today, Glastonbury is probably best known as the location of a huge music festival. And one which is frequently conducted in a quagmire. But then, this is the Somerset Levels - a one time mix of marshes, tidal flats and shallow lakes that, until serious attempts were made to drain them, was regularly flooded by rivers like the Parrett and influenced by tides from the Bristol Channel. Even today, the drainage is apparently maintained by electric pumping stations and other modern methods without which the levels would flood regularly again.

     But before modern methods made serious drainage feasible, Glastonbury sat proud on higher ground - almost appearing as a true island or cluster of islands, of which The Tor was the most dramatic, rising out of the surrounding waters. 

      And so it became woven into the myth of the Isle of Avalon - the place where King Arthur was supposedly taken to heal and recover after his final battle - an otherworldly realm, a place of healing and magic.

      The first written reference to Avalon comes from Geoffrey of Monmouth in his work Historia Regum Britanniae c1136. But Geoffrey didn’t invent Avalon himself. That part of Somerset in those days was already included in some Celtic “otherworld” traditions involving the idea of a sacred western land. The word “Avalon” may come from a Celtic root related to apples (afal in Welsh), suggesting “Isle of Apples” symbolising  abundance and otherworldliness.

      Indeed, the place was custom made for generating myths - striking topography with signs of ancient occupation coupled with a sense of isolation and antiquity. A place where stuff could well have happened.

     The myth of Joseph of Arimathea (associated with writers like William of Malmesbury) had started circulating from early in the eleven hundreds but it was as yet vague and did not include the idea that Joseph founded Britain’s first church or brought The Grail or grew the Glastonbury Thorn from his staff. It began simply as an effort to establish the place as ancient and sacred in the Christian sense. This inclination/compulsion was apparently quite a phenomenon in medieval Europe. 

    Originally, the Holy Grail story was entirely attached to the Arthurian canon and only as a rather nebulous spiritual object. But after writers like Robert de Boron (late 12th to early 13th century) began to Christianise the story, the legend took on new aspects and The Grail became the cup used at the Last Supper and the vessel that caught Christ’s blood at the crucifixion. Joseph of Arimathea became the Guardian of The Grail and the one who brings it out of the Holy Land. Thus, the bridge between the Arthurian legends and a biblical figure developed.

   Within the same timespan, enterprising monks at Glastonbury Abbey were busy promoting the idea that Glastonbury itself was Avalon. This included the Abbey and the surrounding area encompassing the Tor. They then reinforced the idea by claiming, in 1191, that they had discovered Arthur’s grave there. 

    Whilst the stories of Avalon and Arthur’s grave are regarded by historians as no more than fiscally attuned monks trying to sustain their Abbey, they have persisted in modern form in that  The Tor is now often seen as a spiritual focal point linked to ley lines, energy, and mythic symbolism - even a “portal” to Avalon. 

       The tower on The Tor is the surviving fragment of a medieval church, St Michael’s, which was built onto a Saxon precursor. A combination of an earthquake in 1275, the Reformation and the depredations of the centuries reduced all of this to the tower we see today. 

This remaining fragment is both fortuitously shaped and postioned so it feels much older and more mysterious or mystical than history tells us it is. Even before the rise of the new age spirituality which typifies Glastonbury now, the tower on The Tor exerted a pull. 

      In 1971 Andrew and I were in our final year at Bristol vet school and the final 2 years of the course were always spent at the field station out at Langford. One summer evening, tired of swotting for the end of year exams, a group of us went out to the Tor. We were mostly unacquainted with the bulk of its history or its mythology but somehow, in our need for an emotional respite, it called to us more than did the lights of Bristol. 

     (Indeed, Andrew’s mother grew up in Compton Pauncefoot, maybe ten miles as the crow flies from the Tor, and nearby South Cadbury Castle is one of the sites claimed as Camelot. You should see the collection of books that we have on Arthur!)

      We gathered in St Michael’s Tower and sang folk songs - it was the era of the British folk revival and I remember one of us singing a Steeleye Span song, ‘One Night as I Lay on my Bed’, from the band’s first or second album. That evening is about the only ‘social occasion’ I remember from those last couple of years. We had The Tor and its tower to ourselves, there was no one even in the vague vicinity. Like Stonehenge, Glastonbury had yet to become ‘a new age’ gathering site or place of pilgrimage.

    The idea that after the crucifixion Joseph visited Glastonbury was further embellished with the suggestion that he may have come at a previous point as a trader (tin?). He was a wealthy man and a respected member of the council and the young Jesus (? a relative) whose early years are poorly recorded, may have accompanied him. Joseph is also credited in all four gospels with providing the unused tomb in which Jesus’ body was placed after he was taken down from the cross. The Romans were not inclined to treat the bodies of the crucified with much dignity.

   The entire visiting Britain story is fascinating but, historically speaking, it all sits firmly in the realm of myth. One of the reasons the story - specifically the Jesus connection - never quite dies is because it is ‘immortalised’ in one of our favourite hymns: Jerusalem. 

       The words of Jerusalem come from the poem And did those feet in ancient time by William Blake - but the the music most people know today was composed much later by Hubert Parry c1916 and the hymn was produced during World War 1  as a morale-boosting campaign. The most commonly performed version today was arranged by Edward Elgar. 

       Jerusalem has taken on a life far beyond its origins. Often considered an unofficial English anthem, it is sung at everything from sporting events to the Proms.

       Even though Blake’s poem clearly alludes to the legend, its message is not a literal one but a social and spiritual metaphor about building a better Britain.

       Most pertinently in all of this, one tangible object is the Glastonbury Thorn. Joseph of Arithamea is said to have planted his staff on Wearyall hill just outside Glastonbury Abbey, on the edge of what is now the town. The hill is a gentle slope and though it provides a good view of the levels, it’s easy to miss compared to the Tor.   

       Nevertheless, historically and symbolically it is very importantbecause it is there that Joseph’s staff miraculously grew into Crataegus monogyna ‘Biflora’,  a tree that can flower twice a year and most significantly at Christmas as well as at the more usual time in May. Regardless of its origin myth, this  unique tree existed and naturally attracted a lot of attention. 

     Unfortunately, come the English civil war, enthusiastic puritans were not predisposed in favour of anything, natural or otherwise, that looked ripe for potential sacralisation. Though it was not obviously enshrined in any way, the Glastonbury Thorn came under suspicion and had to be chopped down. Some say that as it fell, its thorns blinded the axeman.

      Before this reported destruction in the 1600s, the original Thorn was probably a single, notable tree. It would have been visible from below, marking the hillside and near to a likely trodden path. Though it was not obviously enshrined it was certainly cut down.

      Fortunately, as a noteworthy variant even without its attached myth, it had been propagated by cuttings. Monasteries in particular were horticulturally very adept and they would also have understood that even a naturally occurring variant would not necessarily pass on its features via seed - even supposing it were fertile.  

       For most of the 20th century, visitors following the legend would have seen a recognised descendant tree growing at or very near the traditional spot - a maintained and labelled heritage feature which became the Glastonbury Thorn in popular understanding.

     However in December 2010 that tree was badly vandalised (nearly cut through) and it did not survive. As with the Sycamore Gap tree this became a significant cultural moment locally. 

    A new Glastonbury Thorn sapling grown from authenticated cuttings of earlier trees, has been planted in the same general location and care has been taken to ensure that the original tree maintains only a certified lineage of descendants tied to an enduring legend. Though the spot continues to be identified and interpreted for visitors, the setting itself is still very much a natural, open site.

    Each year, a flowering sprig is cut from a descendant of the original tree, sent to the reigning monarch and supposedly displayed on the royal Christmas table. This first happened as an isolated gesture in the 17th Century, when James Montague, the Bishop of Bath & Wells, sent a budded branch of a Glastonbury Thorn to Queen Anne, King James I’s consort. 

    It wasn’t until early in the last century when there was a renewed flourishing of interest in national traditions and heritage that sending a sprig to the reigning monarch became a tradition. The Christmas flowering made the Glastonbury Thorn symbolically perfect for royal and Christian celebration, linking the ancient legend with a revival of Glastonbury’s mythology. 

      Though the name Arthur is often included in the birth names of the heir to the throne, over the centuries the royals have clearly avoided having another King Arthur. This is understandable because the name would carry a lot of symbolic weight and frank expectation when attached to the word King. 

       Arthurian legend includes the idea that Arthur will return in Britain’s hour of need and having a sprig of Glastonbury Thorn on our Christmas table next year will be enough to keep me hoping.