Glastonbury is, of course, steeped in folklore and legend.

Some of these, as previously mentioned, relate to Joseph of Arimathea, uncle of Jesus. There seems to be reasonable evidence that Joseph visited the region a number of times, primarily to trade for tin in Cornwall. Some legends suggest that on one of these trips, he brought his young nephew with him, as immortalised in Blake’s poem Jerusalem.

Joseph is said to have returned some years after the crucifixion with a group of missionaries. The story suggests that he landed first at Pilton (familiar to visitors to the Glastonbury Festival) before travelling on and landing at Wearyall Hill at Glastonbury.

It just so happens that the hotel I am staying in is right next to Wearyall Hill. Could this be the holiest Premier Inn in Britain?

Anyway, the story goes that on Wearyall Hill, Joseph planted his staff, which miraculously sprouted and became the famous Glastonbury thorn bush. Offshoots of this bush are growing in a number of places, including Glastonbury Abbey and the church yard of St. John’s.

Other aspects of the story are that Joseph (soon to be St. Joseph) brought the holy grail with him, which is now buried (along with Joseph) under Chalice Hill.

What is probably less controversial is that Joseph was granted 12 hides (1440 acres) of land by the local king and he and his fellow missionaries built a church there which was the start of Glastonbury Abbey - which became a key player in the spiritual life of Celtic and Christian Britain. Most of the Celtic saints - Patrick, Andrew, Brigit visited the abbey and St. Patrick was the abbot for a period. Even in Saxon times, Glastonbury was considered too sacred to be bothered with trifles like having to obey the king or pay taxes and the abbots of the Glastonbury Abbey enjoyed great autonomy and power, with their saintly associations (and associated relics) pulling in the pilgrims.

Of course Glastonbury has been a sacred site for thousands of years, the labyrinth carved into the Tor dating from prehistory.

And lets not forget the Arthurian links (more of which later)…

All this to say that everything in Glastonbury pretty much has to be viewed through the lens of its history and so a little context, I feel, is warranted.

Today I am abandoning the car and intend to follow in those ancient footsteps and walk the landscape. I set out relatively early, skirting around Wearyall Hill and heading towards the Tor. Part of me thinks that I should clime up Wearyall Hill. But most of me is fine giving it a miss.

Fun fact: Judging by the place names nearby, it seems that Wirral is a contraction of Wearyall, which I find interesting having grown up on the Wirral. Oh actually that is probably only a fun fact for me!

Everyone that I meet on my walk is friendly, smiles and bids me good morning. Must be something in the Glastonbury air!

I have wheezed my way to the top of the Tor by about 9am. There are only a few other people up there. I ask the two women who are circulating around St Michael’s tower on the summit if this is a tradition. They are unsure but had seen another woman do this 3 times just minutes earlier. They suggest that if you can’t have a bit of woo in your life on Friday 13th, when can you? Can’t argue with that. A little extra luck is always welcome. We all decide that it can’t do any harm, and I join the circumnavigation.

Now I’m not particularly superstitious, but shortly after this a violent squall enveloped the Tor which actually made it quite hard to stand up. That said, I don’t really fancy heading down in this. On the plus side, I manage to commandeer the only corner of the tower that the howling gale isn’t getting to, so swings and roundabouts!

The weather is like this all day, flipping between glorious sunshine and howling gales an torrential rain. I did manage to spend time at the Chalice Well and the Abbey without getting rained on (much), so I am taking that as a win for the fortune inducing effect of circular Tor perambulation.

I descend the Tor via the White Spring at the perfect time as the Chalice Well gardens have just opened and I have it almost entirely to myself. Following the instructions to put my phone into airplane mode (the plants don’t like Wifi!) I spend a few very peaceful minutes meditating at the well before heading off to load up on supplies of well water.

On the way I see a chap wandering up the hill with incense and dowsing rods in hand. Obviously I have to chat to him. He looks a bit sheepish, saying that he usually does this before visitors arrive. Turns out he is the gardener for the Chalice gardens. He tells me that at the beginning of each day he wanders around, checking for any imbalances and this informs what he needs to do during the day. He is abundantly clear that the garden is in charge and he just does what is needed.

This pleases me immensely and we get to chatting. It turns out that he knew Hamish Miller (one of the authors of the book that set me off on this journey) and he tells me that Hamish was also a metalworker and created the famous vesica piscis cover for the well! I am amazed and delighted at this unexpected connection to my current journey. I could have talked to this guy all day but have to release him to his duties … the garden awaits.

Next, a brief stop to load up on water. This wasn’t the smartest move as I then had to carry it around all day. Still, it will be a good workout.

I am pretty cold by this point, so wander into the town centre to source a late breakfast and am rewarded with a warming feast at the Pyramid Vegan Cafe. Delicious!

Thoroughly restored, I launch back into my touristy activity with renewed vigour. I slide into Glastonbury Abbey for free, courtesy of the National Lottery Days Out week. Once a year many National Trust and English Heritage sites which have had lottery funding let people in free or for a reduced fee, if they can show that they have played the lottery. You only need to have played it once as the same ticket works every time. I managed to get in Hardwick Hall at the beginning of the week too, so am getting full benefit this year. Last year I wasn’t aware that it was on until I arrived at the Eden project with my pre-paid ticket and was presumably the only person who paid that day.

The Abbey is pretty much a ruin now but was once the centre of religious life in the country. There is a small exhibition, explaining the history, the St. Joseph connection etc. and I am quite taken with this picture of St. Dunstan leading the devil around with tongs through his nose. They had proper hardcore saints in those days.

And of course there is the King Arthur connection. In the twelfth century the monks found a couple of heavy oak coffins containing a large man and a woman apparently with a cross with an inscription confirming that this was Arthur and Guinevere. Now tradition has it that Arthur was buried on the Isle of Avalon, so far be it from me to question the monks. Although this was just after a fire destroyed the abbey and they were very strapped for cash for a rebuild. Nothing brings in the punters like the resting place of a legendary king. Just saying.

Back into the secular world (if such a thing exists in Glastonbury) and the heavens open again. I have to divert into one of the fine book shops. As you can imagine, Glastonbury has a number of book shops covering topics that interest me! I could browse there for hours, but eventually drag myself away, only to get drawn into another further along. In this one I chatted to the proprietor about a book which I have been trying to source second hand, which is always vastly overpriced. He convinced me that it really wasn’t a great book and so saved me the trouble of further search and outlay. I suspect that I was more pleased with this result than he was as I didn’t buy anything, having already vastly exceeded my book budget over the last few weeks.

Time is moving on. There is a brief break in the weather, but it doesn’t look as though it will last. I had intended to go in search of Gog and Magog - two ancient oaks - but I suspect I will just end up dripping wet and miserable in a field. Maybe tomorrow.

I think after all the walking, I have earned a pint and so retreat to the George and Pilgrims pub for refreshment in a fine 600+ year old establishment. I feel positively young! Might be the aged pub around me or the effect of that well water that I swigged earlier…

Road to Nowhere

"And Did Those Feet..."