Black ink on white paper...

Going to the Stonehenge Festival was going to take planning and money. So Dean and Blackum set off for the bus station to check departure times whilst I began begging for funds.

'Can you spare a bit of change please Sir?'

I smiled as the money left the pockets of the tourists and landed into mine. Hungry and thirsty I moved closer to the tables outside the cafe in the Abbey Square.

'Spare some money for food Sir?','Can you spare a bit of your lunch?','Sir, you couldn't spare a cigarette could you?

'Sit down Claire' said the man at the table with a broad smile 'Would you like an Ice Cream Sundae?'

'Dave - fucking - Druan!' I exclaimed, joining him at the table and taking a cigarette form the packet he offered me. 'Fuck me! I'm surprised you recognised me!'

Dave was in his late twenties. A receding hairline and an unshaven face would have marked him as looking much older though. He was scruffily dressed in an old army jacket, band t-shirt and jeans, but he was in no way a man of the streets, more an eccentric intellectual.

'So do you want that sundae Miss White?'

'Do I ever Mr Druan!'

He smiled but seemed a little sad at the sight of me. 'Do you still write?' He inquired.

'No, not really. Well not at all really.'

He motioned over a waitress. 'Two Sundaes and two teas please.' When she left he looked back at me. 'I often thought about what might have become of you. You always left me so fucking frustrated. You were so clever. Had so much to throw away. I hated it when you would turn up stinking of drink and looking so angry.' He paused momentarily as if considering whether or not it was safe to continue, 'I always check the local paper and expect to read of your demise.' He blew a smoke ring. 'I thought that you would leave my world the way you entered it - with black ink on white paper.'

'I never think about you.' I laughed 'In fact I am so fucking glad to be out of there. Life's good now, it's really, really good.'

Dave looked away towards the crowds in the square. 'I watched you for a while. You're good at what you do. I can't believe how many people give you money.'

'Are you going to give me money Dave?' I moved a foot under the table towards his in an attempt at flirtation. This caused him to look back at me.

'No Miss White. I most certainly am not. From the scenes that I just viewed I think that I can safely say that English Teachers earn a good deal less than beggars do. And we are also indulged in less cigarettes and Ice Cream Sundaes.'

We motioned to put our cigarettes out at the same time, but at the last minute, with the realisation that our hands might touch, Dave withdrew and tossed his butt to the floor instead. We ate our sundaes and kept the conversation safe. We talked of shared memories. Of the school, the students and the classroom and of his friends.

We talked of incidentals. But definitely not of why I was here or why I drank or why I persisted in nudging his foot with mine.

'I better go back to my begging then. People to ask - money to make, and all that.' I hoped that he would give me money. He didn't. He embraced me warmly as I stood up to leave and I noted that he smelt of Patchouli Oil, just like Ian always did.

'Stay out of trouble and stay safe.'

I thought perhaps I would try.

Blackum and Dean returned and found me with a pocket full of change. Enough for the four bus fares and some food that's for sure. I sat on the warm cream stone of the Abbey Steps and shared an also warm can of cider with Rats whilst the lads begged some money for drugs. I thought of 'black ink on white paper'. Of what I could write and who I could tell but at this point in my life, such declarations were not within my capabilities. It had however been good to see Mr Druan again.

That night we slept near the Abbey for about three hours until the police moved us on and then spent the rest of the night on the damp grass of the maze in Parade Gardens. We woke stiff and sore to the fresh dewy air of the canal side and the sounds of the barrels being loaded into the Boater Pub.

'I'm ready for henge Baby!' Shouted Dean and we all smiled as we remembered where we were heading. A quick wash in the public toilets and a breakfast of Cornish Pasties saw us right for the day.

Ian and Merlin joined us near the Bus Station.

I linked arms with Dean and we went and stood with the others in the long queue for the Salisbury bus.

'This is going to be fun' I said. All the time watching Ian out the corner of my eye with a level of lust that I could not justify. Ian winked at me.

'Do you think that there will be another fight this year?' I asked.

'Like the Bean Fields? We're fucking cruising for it but I don't think that the pigs will let it happen.' Answered Ian whilst rolling a cigarette. He closed his eyes then licked the paper before looking back at me and smiling.

'Pigs better watch out because this year I ain't got a bus or a woman to drag me down.' Said Blackum, obviously riled at the memories of the riot two years ago. Dean grabbed him affectionately in a wrestling hold and ruffled his hair.

'Awww. Has Blackum not got a woman any more. I blame Claire.' It was only half a joke but everybody laughed. Except me.

'Seriously Claire.' Said Ian 'That was pretty fucked up though, raping Blackum like that. Hey everyone, hands up if you haven't screwed Claire.' Merlin, Ian and Blackum laughed as Dean who was still on my arm raised his hand. "Doesn't say much for you then does it Dean!'

'The days still young' I jibed. 'And you can shut the fuck up because both of them were way better than you.'

'You lie' said Ian with that look in his eyes and his singing Welsh lilt. 'I know you're fucking lying.'

I knew I was lying too.

How fucked up was I that I had reduced Ian to a happy memory?

'Arge.' Shouted Merlin. 'Get your arse over here with us.' The new man moved towards us with the motion of a salsa dancer.

'Talking of fucked up.' Said Ian 'What the Fuck is that in your ear RJ?'

Now RJ, or Arge, King of the Swing - whatever the fuck you want to call him - was the most fucked up and interesting person that I had ever had privilege to set my eyes upon. His head was completely shaved, right back to his smooth and milk white skin. A nail was attached to his scalp, I can only imagine with glue, and it stuck out from the centre of his head like a television aerial. He wore eyeliner in a thick dark streak beneath each eye and was wearing a rather dapper black suit and shiny shoes. Poked through massive holes in his ears were various items.

Safety pins, wine corks, something that looked like an amputated rat's tail.

Indescribables!

'It's a fucking scab.' Said Arge. 'I picked it off my knee and stuck a safety pin through it. It's my new ear decoration, ça vous rapelle votre enfancie, oui? '

'That's tres fucked up RJ. You coming to Henge?' Asked Ian.

'No. I don't hang with the dirty hippies. Too much pride for that ride brother.'

And he did a little dance again.

For reasons I could not explain RJ made me feel small and irrelevant. He made me feel like I had never truly understood this alternative lifestyle. He was an epiphany. An understanding that all my attempts to be different had just made me the same as lots of others. I looked at us all and we were simply clones of the same rebellion. Soldiers in a uniform. Nothing more or less. I watched as he wandered off and wondered if he was gay. What uniform did RJ wear and what was he trying to say?

On the bus Blackum told us stories of the Battle of the Bean Fields in 1985. How friends holding babies in their arms had been beaten into submission by the riot police and how innocent travelers had been forced to their fate and had lost almost everything whilst defending families and friends.



How many were beaten for no reason and their homes destroyed.



How they were dragged distraught from the Bean Fields, bloodied and crying, confused and angered by the actions of the British Police.


We listened and drank and the men got more excited and ready to fight. I felt fear at the unknown. Would the festival of 1988 end the same way? Would I get bloodied and damaged?

From Salisbury we took a second bus to Amesbury and from there we could walk to the festival site. The streets were crowded with travelers and their vehicles, I had never seen so many comrades in one town!

Merlin was in good spirits, singing loudly to Blackum as they walked with arms around each other up the first hill. I was feeling less merry and I was beginning to wish that I had boots on like the men. My bare feet were already sore from the stony ground and I knew that we still had a long way to go.

We stopped at a garage to buy drinks and more tobacco and so that I could use the toilet. I asked a woman in the queue how much further to the site. 'About an hour' she had replied 'The police aren't letting us set up anywhere near the Stones this year, but its well organised. We'll get through.' My feet wished we were there already!

Bored, I crept around the back of the garage for a snog and a grope with Merlin before we left. 'You fancy Ian don't you?' He had asked whilst he stuck his hand up my top.

'Why? You jealous?' I had laughed.

'That's fucked up baby! He's an asshole.' And we paused the conversation for more kissing before I pulled back.

'Let's go.' I said 'The others are waiting.'

'You are nothing but a fucking tease.' He retorted as we walked hand in hand and rejoined the group at the roadside.

'What the fuck have you two been doing?' asked Ian. 'We've been waiting here like a bunch of knobs for you.'

'Claire is having a period. She needed my help.' Smiled Merlin. Ever the comic.

Ian looked at me and said. 'She better fucking not be. Or what's the fucking point in bringing her?'

Merlin was right. He was an asshole.

We arrived at site just as the sun was leaving the sky. Hundreds, maybe thousands of travellers were already here; all of us ready for the walk to the stones in the early hours of tomorrow morning. I remember watching Hawkwind play and then chatting with friends of Deans outside their caravan. Stories of the Bean Fields were on everybody's lips and it was hard to imagine that this could end in anything but violence. Many wanted payback for that day and I had a feeling that we would get it. Some people seemed to be more important than others here. There were those that directed the crowds. That gave orders on which vehicles should park where and which families should stay near the back when the violence started. I listened with interest, every intention already of being right at the fucking front with my men when it all kicked off. We bought acid from a man in the crowd that shouted 'White Lightenings, two pounds a tab' in a cheery Cockney manner, like he was selling fruit at a market stall. I placed mine in my mouth with anticipation, feeling only a fleeting insecurity at the concept of joining a riot on LSD.

We were high and happy, settled in our bond of friendship by the time that the walk to the Stone Circle began. Merlin and Dean took it in turns to give me piggy backs when my feet hurt too bad and even Ian was kind in words and gestures. The feeling of unity was enormous here and we chatted happily about drugs and lifestyles with those that lined our route. I felt the bonds that make a tribe and the pride that goes with that. Everything became more intense as we neared our goal, colours, people, attitudes, the acid.


The tiny piece of paper with Dave Druan's phone number on it lay safely in my pocket.

Black ink on white paper. Despite the colours of this night.

Onwards we went.

Continued...