Not Quite Woodstock...

Cleaning out one of those cluttered places we all seem to have somewhere in our homes, I came across a piece of my past which I had completely forgotten about. Like much of “the old days”, we remember flashes of the times we enjoyed and hopefully less often the times we didn’t. This proverbial blast from the past was one of those in between memories, neither particularly pleasant nor unpleasant. I guess that’s why I didn’t remember it until reminded; our minds collect clutter faster than a seldom used drawer.

I came across an event ticket for the Fairlight Music Festival, the type of ticket you hang around your neck on a cord. Woodstock had only been the year before and in spite of living in the U.S. being 17  at the time, I didn’t even waste my breath broaching the subject with my parents. I had to be content with watching the amazing sights on the evening news, besides, it was safer that way. This opportunity was going to be different; I didn’t ask, I just went.

Photo Courtesy: Steven Davies  www.picturewales.com

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Way back in 1971 I was still new to Sydney and trying to find my place in the social scene at my local High School. It doesn’t matter where in the world you are, High School social ‘clicks’ are the same. I was taking it slowly, not completely tying myself to any one group of people; I guess I just wanted to be friends with everyone. That’s a noble objective but in teenage school society, not acceptable. You can’t sit on the fence, it has to boil down to us and them doesn’t it?

It was April, over the coming Easter holidays some of my friends would be going away with their parents so I acted quickly. After approaching several people I discovered that for some reason the parents of the girls I knew were not happy with their daughters going away for 3 days with a couple of guys. Stranger still, the guys I asked were faced with similar problems, parents must have had something against Rock Music Festivals, Woodstock did have a few problems they might have heard about. Near to abandoning my quest I got lucky. Scott was a nice guy; he and I didn’t hang out much but we knew each other well enough to talk, I wasn’t even sure of his music preferences.

Within two hours of having asked him Scott and I were on the road. I had left it a little late but we would make it if the Yellow Canary could get us there. The small country town of Mittagong was the site for the Festival; it was only about three hours drive from Sydney, plus vehicular down time. The Canary was my first car, a very bright yellow Mini, you’ve seen them in English movies, the small brick shaped car. They were built to last and since I did all the repairs myself I was almost confident we would make it. I can’t remember how well financed we were but after some discussion at the first service station, we put in a little less than a full tank of petrol, that would have to do, Minis got good mileage. Second stop, the grocery for potato chips, soft drinks and a few beers, it was only going to be three days.

We arrived at the farm property where the happening was to be held, around 1:00 pm Saturday. The owner Mr. Henderson and his family had the place for generations, it was named Fairlight. The 200 wooded acres offered plenty of room for the expected six to ten thousand people, with some secluded spots for the exciting things we hoped would go on. Scott and I had a look at the gathering and decided on a hillside with a good view of the stage as well as the crowd.

Scott turned out to be like me, a little on the cautious side. We stayed away from the large group of Bikies camping on the opposite hillside, and planted ourselves near but not too close to the path leading to the Port-a-Loos, and in sight of the water truck. Overall it was a good vantage point, practical, relatively safe but right on the edge of where things were going to happen. This was a first for both of us, taking a step out of the known, secure environment we knew at home and getting involved with things that were going on in our generations “experimental” exploits. Of course we didn’t know then, that there really is nothing new in the world, this had all been done before just in different ways.

We had a good time that weekend; we saw some of the things we had hoped to see. There were some girls taking clothes off, some drugs being passed around, and the usual drunks. We spent a lot of time observing people, commenting to each other regarding each particular person’s choice of external presentation, or lack thereof. Scott had chosen an afro as his current hair wear. We were just being shallow I guess, comes with the age. The music was great after it got underway and went on far into the nights. For the novelty of it all, the trip was worth the effort. At the end of it all, Scott and I didn’t become close friends, we continued as we had before, but with a shared experience and that was enough for us.

The music was something perhaps half the people came for, the rest were there for the excitement of doing something “Now” to use a term from that time, or just for something to do on a long weekend. I think most of us knew we were going to be one of the few to be able to say “I was there”. No one else in my school would be able to say that. We felt being there would somehow set us apart or make us different to others; perhaps not our intention but it did. A lot of interesting things happened that long weekend, I might write about them one day, maybe after I hear some music from those days and get nostalgic again, or have a few too many.

I’ve met others who were there very rarely, when I have it wasn’t as though we had been at Woodstock, Fairlight was not a pivotal point in history just a local festival with limited attendance and some bad weather. Having said that, we were there and it was, in a small way a part of music history. The bands that played Fairlight are gone now; the bikies who created the expected distractions are probably on age pensions. I found out this week that Phil Cullen, the man who did the lighting for the festival is still doing lighting for shows. The Henderson family who owned the property fell on hard times, I hear the land was resumed by the government when Aboriginal artefacts were discovered there. Phil told me that the old Sydney tram used for a band and crew space during the festival is still there, overgrown with trees. Sometimes the past is worth remembering; often it’s just the past.          Rusty, Courtesy: Joe Balynas, Flickr Photo

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October 2009