We started the long climb at quarter to eight as the light began to fail, a queue of pilgrims rising before us; we could already see the crowd at the top of the hill.
|Clare spotting for other beacons from Glastonbury Tor last night|
We had thought the beacon would be some monstrous, Guy Fawkes-style bonfire, but it was more of a lantern. There was a town cryer in full regalia, reading the Royal Proclamation, and some guy in embroidered white robes adorned with knotted rope, who might have been a druid. A small contingent of military cadets stood aimlessly to one side.
There was a ragged singing of "Jerusalem" although to what purpose we did not know.
|Your author, stoic in the cold wind and gathering gloom, as they try to light it|
As they tried repeatedly to light the
The obligatory drone was grounded on account of the arctic gale swirling around the Tor.
|The Beacon was finally alight|
Clare looked for other beacons in the national chain. I could not clearly differentiate candidates from distant car headlights but it occupied a few shivering moments, until we could plausibly make our way down again.
We popped into Morrisons and bought a couple of vanilla slices to compensate them for use of their car park, and went home.