Suzanne Harrington: I loved being a volunteer at Glastonbury - it's all about the love
Elton John performing on the Pyramid Stage at the Glastonbury Festival at Worthy Farm in Somerset. Pic: Ben Birchall/PA Wire
There are music festivals, and there is Glastonbury.
Festivals are where people go to get wrecked and listen to bands; Glastonbury is where you step into an alternative reality, a pop-up utopia where a quarter of a million people come together in the middle of nowhere, for a psychic reset and a physical workout, and leave exhausted, filthy, cleansed.
It’s a place of pure joy. Of hope, of being amid humanity at its most loving, creative, inventive, inclusive. And hilarious. You don’t need hallucinogens – the whole place is a living, breathing trip. With its own fire service and field hospital.
Obviously, it’s hard going – even on a lazy day, your step count will be in the 20,000s. The long drop loos are infamous, it’s twelve quid for a burrito, and even surrounded by eight miles of impenetrable metal fencing to stop overcrowding, it still takes an hour to get anywhere because of the crowds.
When you’re leaving, you have to carry your tent, rucksack, and camping gear at least 5km over rough ground to the exits. Climate change has meant that mud and rain has been replaced by heat and dust, which means sunstroke instead of trench foot.
From my first time in 1989 (which involved a lot of personal firsts - first time camping, first time at a festival, first time seeing public nudity – my tiny Irish mind was blown), the festival has grown and grown. What began in a single field on the famous Glastonbury ley line is now the size of Bath.
What used to be genuinely anarchic has grown into a cultural institution – no more public nudity - without losing its hippie heart or ethics; there’s no corporate sponsorship, no brands, just thousands of small traders, with festival profits going to Greenpeace, Oxfam, WaterAid. No single-use plastic, no wet wipes.
Behind the scenes is a vast infrastructure – imagine a giant military operation in the desert, except run by lovely people in a field. And they are lovely.
This year, I was volunteering in the Pyramid dressing rooms – hoovering Elton’s carpet, restocking Lizzo’s fridge, folding Foo Fighters’ towels – and discovered that the backstage culture is just as lovely as out in the fields.
No shouting, no hissy fits, no stress – just lots of pleases and thank yous and smiles, even as everyone ran around making sure everything was perfect for the performers. And it was.
It’s a jaw-dropping organisational feat – from the Pyramid stage to the giant flame-throwing spider to the ingenious poo management system – that has never sold out to big business.
Which is why it’s such an honour to be part of Glastonbury, whether you’re stewarding on a faraway gate, or emptying Debbie Harry’s bin.
Artists perform for significantly smaller fees; workers work for less pay; the vast army of volunteers work for a free ticket.
From the Pyramid headliners to the litter pickers, everyone knows that Glastonbury is bigger than them, and that the Glastonbury crowd is like no other. It really is all about the love. Just ask Lewis Capaldi.
