High Profile
Down on Jollity Farm
Third Way
Down on Jollity Farm
As the co-founder, chief executive and host of the Glastonbury
Festival, Michael Eavis CBE was recently identified in Time as one
of the most influential people in the world.
Third Way joined him for a chinwag at the office.
Interview by Steve Turner
Your first name is Athelstan. When did you
decide you'd rather be called something else?
My mother was very keen to name me after her grand-father
for some reason, so I was lumbered with it; but when I went to
school, she said: 'It's embarrassing for you, so I'll call you
Michael.' I was a bit shy, you see.
Where did you go to school?
I went to the village school until I was nine and then I
went to Wells Cathedral School. My mother was very keen that we
shouldn't just be ordinary farming types she was a headmistress and
a bit snobby, really. She didn't like the local dialect and all
that, so I had to go to a posh school. I had to board to get the
full treatment. I wasn't mad crazy on the idea of boarding, I must
say -I was away from the farm for five years.
Was it a disappointment to your parents when you
left school at 15?
My father wanted me to do the farming but my mother was
more ambitious. She had a very handsome cousin who was a commander
in the Australian navy and she wanted me to follow him, so I went
off to train to be a midshipman in the Merchant Navy; and then I
went to sea, with the Union-Castle Line. The problem was, my father
died when I was 19, so that whole great plan of my mother didn't
really work because then she wanted me home, you see. I was then
called up for National Service [and I ended up] in the coalmines. I
would go down the mine by day and milk the cows at night. That
allowed me to keep the farm going, which is what I really wanted to
do.
What is the joy in farming?
There's not much joy. I mean, it's really hard work, isn't
it? I was milking twice a day for seven days a week and down the
mines for five days and I did that for two years. I managed to save
the farm from being sold, but it was real graft.I learnt a lot
about politics and things in the mines -it was a good education for
me, actually. I joined the mineworkers' union and I got to like the
people.
Do you enjoy farming now?
Yeah, because I can afford to do it properly. I have five
people milking for me now and it's a much bigger herd.
Nothing could be more down to earth than farming
and nothing more glamorous than rock music. Does glamour appeal to
you?
I think the glamour of my previous life probably comes
into the music somewhere. When I was at sea on the Union-Castle
liners, I was on the bridge, with a nice uniform and nice girls
hanging around and all that sort of thing; and to leave all that to
come home to a back-woods farm - I think the contrast is probably
what led me into the festival. I needed a little bit of that
glamour.
How did you first get into pop
music?
I just used to listen to Radio Luxembourg, and the Top
Twenty on Sunday evenings. I was into Bill Haley and that kind of
thing - I was addicted to music when I was very young. My parents
thought I'd gone barmy! My brother was playing the violin and doing
classical music.
Did you play an instrument
yourself?
Not really. I had to learn the recorder at school. When I
came back [from the sea] in 1954, I used to pipe music through to
the milking parlour - it was only me and the cows. I wired a
speaker into the collar of a nine-inch sewer pipe. It was a very
primitive system but it worked pretty well and it kept me going,
really, through all the grim years.
What was the genesis of the
festival?
I went to the Bath [Festival of Blues and Progressive
Music in 1969] and I thought: 'This is for me!' There was an
amazing display of talent - all the best bands in the world were
there.1 It was a very powerful message.
In what way was it a message?
Well, that there was something else going on out there
that I was not part of.
And you wanted to be a part of
it?
I needed to be a part of it, yeah.
The first festival you held on Worthy Farm, in
1970, was called 'the Pilton Pop, Folk and Blues Festival'.2 Why
did you decide to call it 'Glastonbury'
thereafter?
In 1971, [the 'upper-crust hippie'3] Arabella Churchill
and [her friend] Andrew Kerr turned up at the farm to put on a free
festival and they introduced me to John Michell, who had just
written a book called The View over Atlantis.4 He said that
Glastonbury was the New Jerusalem and wanted me to change the name
of the festival. Glastonbury had always been a centre for us anyway
in Pilton: it's only six miles away, so we naturally grav-itated
[there] - and my grandfather retired [there]. So, mentally and
emotionally it was all about Glastonbury.
Were you impressed by the theories Michell
propagated about ley lines and so on?
No, not really. I thought it was interesting stuff and
they were nice people and they were good fun; but it didn't really
make a lot of sense to me and I thought they were slightly off
their heads anyway. All of these people were smoking dope and doing
acid and stuff and it was slightly scary, really. I wasn't very
comfortable with all that happening at the farm, actually. I had a
Methodist upbringing, with my father be-ing a preacher and having
three or four ministers in my family. I know they were a bit
old-fashioned and a bit quaint, but they were sound, d'you know
what I mean?So, that stuff made a lot more sense to me - and there
was a morality to it. [The historian] EP Thompson, who had been a
Methodist preacher at one time.
He was the author of The Making of the English
Working Class [1963), is that right?
Yeah, that's right. Well done! He was a great moral
figure and he spoke from the Pyramid [Stage at Glastonbury] with
passion about peace and social ecology and workers' rights and all
that sort of thing. He was such a good chap, and an incredible
speaker. I suppose CND came in at that point. [My daughter] Emily
was born in 1979 and we were concerned about cruise missiles coming
to Newbury and so we got involved at Greenham Common. That was of a
lot more interest to me than all the John Michell stuff. He was a
lovely bloke, though.
Did you never rebel against your Methodist
background, even inthe Sixties?
No, not at all. I never got carried away with all that. I
kept going to chapel and it was a grounding thing.There was
something there that was familiar and very safe.
You can't remember a period when you thought,
'Stuff that! I'm going in a new direction'?
No. I wanted to hang on to all that tradition; I wasn't
going to leave anything behind. It was important for me to be
grounded, and I also was building the farm up. My socialism and the
peace group all linked in with my Methodism. Bob Dylan and all that
lot were singing anti-war songs in the late Sixties, and then there
was Woodstock and all sorts of lovely people writing fantastic
songs about peace and love and things, and that gelled with my
history.
In one interview, you said that it doesn't matter
to you whether or not God exists -
I'm not really bothered about that. Or, I don't know if
that's important to me or not. I'm more interested in leading a
loving life, you know, and being generous in spirit to people that
work for me. There has to be some fundamental belief in some sort
of God, I think, but it's not something I can easily identify
with.
Do you pray?
Not really, no.
Do you read the Bible?
No.
Isn't that a funny sort of
Methodism?
I just sing hymns. I love the hymns! And the romantic idea
of there being a Creator, a God, that created all of these lovely
things - children and falling in love and all that whole thing -
and caring about people and show ing that care in a very real way
so that my upbringing makes a difference to what I do every
day.
But John Wesley's moral principles were very much
based on his belief that we all bear the image of
God.
No doubt about that, yeah.
So you do believe that?
Well, we're all part of God. I mean, we're the end result
of all that evolution, aren't we? Here we are, you and I today, and
we are the end result of that creation. And so I think we've all
got God in us, basically.
We've got God in us or we're part of God? Which is
it?
We've got a little bit of God in all of us. We're all
playing God, really, aren't we? We're all trying to do things for
the benefit of the whole world, you know - trying to improve
things, through politics or music or poetry or whatever it
is.
How come you didn't become a preacher like your
father?
I do talk a lot! I've never really preached, and I don't
really know what I'd say, actually, to be honest with you. But I
speak somewhere every week, about my life or the
festival.
Have you ever been to the Greenbelt
Festival?
Never been, no.
What do you think of festivals with a religious
ethos?
It's a bit too Cliff Richard for my liking, if you know
what I mean!
Have you ever invited Cliff to
Glastonbury?
No, no, no. Actually, I met him here at the Abbey once and
I did ask him - and he declined! He said he didn't think it was his
cup of tea. And he is quite right, really: it's not his cup of
tea.
Do you personally choose the
acts?
Well, I've got 12 other people - including my daughter and
her husband - and they're all booking things for their particular
areas. I'm choosing as well; but I'm not doing it all like I used
to. I'd like to think I've got a say on the headliners. I generally
get my own way in the end.
Do you just choose things you want to
hear?
Well, things I like, really. It's very
self-indulgent!
Nobody else in the world has had so many rock
legends come and play in their back garden, have
they?
They all want to come now. Within two days of this year's
festival ending, at half past eight in the morning, I had an agent
for three major, major bands phone and ask if they could headline
in 2017. Isn't that incredible?
Have you had people beg you to book
them?
Not begging as such, but they can be very
persuasive!
In one interview, you said there were 30 acts in
the world that could pull a crowd of 60,000 or more and only two of
them hadn't played at Glastonbury.
Only one now!
Who is that?
Fleetwood Mac. I'd like to get Mark Knopfler to play,
obviously, but he doesn't like playing to big crowds.
Who do you listen to at home?
Mainly Van Morrison. Neil Young. Elvis Presley still. Van
Morrison is my favourite, really.
Who have you had and it's been like a dream come
true?
John Martyn [in 1979] was one of the best
moments.
Was he a big hero of yours?
Well, I wouldn't ... I didn't like him as a person. He
used to drink a lot and he was always difficult. He said, 'Why
don't you treat me like a rock star?' and I said, 'You're not a
rock star. Sorry! You're a very good folk singer.' He was a bit of
a nightmare, really. But he was brilliant. His music was really,
really moving. Really moving.
Has there been anyone who has really disappointed
you?
They don't always come up trumps. No way, no. I can't
mention any names, really.
Do you ever perform yourself?
I sang three times this year! I sang on the Avalon stage,
and the Moody Blues invited me to join them for a song called
'Question' - a wonderful song, that is5 - and I did [the folk
standard] 'Goodnight, Irene' in the Underground Piano Bar at two in
the morning. So, I do get involved. I'm on my feet the whole
weekend doing stuff. I also spoke to the Beanfield people, because
it was the 30th anniversary of 'the Battle of the Beanfield'.' [In
1985] they were turned away from Stonehenge because Michael
Heseltine [then Secretary of State for Defence] thought that they
were a threat to the nation, so they came to my place. I thought
originally that they were going to be nasty, because of all the
media stuff, d'you know what I mean? With machetes and stuff. But
they were not like that at all. I actually got on with them really
well. Extraordinary!
The Glastonbury Festival is now seen to epitomise
the best of British culture -
I hope so.
- but it started off as a very alternative
...
Well, it is [that], too. We've managed to create [a
festival where almost] 200,000 people all get on with each other -
you know, all mixed races, all mixed-sex. There is no nastiness
anywhere. None. Isn't that extraordinary? This is a British culture
that brings people together, you know. I mean, it's not about fox
hunting and the Changing of the Guard - there are other things
going on that people can identify with: getting on together,
sharing their experiences, sharing their food, sharing their music
and sharing their art and everything. That is my greatest
achievement, I think, really.
Is that what you would like to be remembered
for?
I suppose so... I just want to try to hold this society
and hold it together, so that they're enjoying themselves together
and appreciating the same things. I mean, we're all part of the
creation of God or whatever. We've got different creeds and
different beliefs and stuff but there is a common thread there and
it all comes together at Glastonbury. That's why it works. That's
why it works. Oh, it's a massive success.
Do you see it as a model for what society could
be?
I'm not showing off, am I? I don't want to show off or
anything...
Go on!
No, but I was so thrilled that this year particularly,
with all this stuff going on about Muslims, we had thousands and
thousands of Asians. People were coming up to me and [telling me,]
'Oh, Michael! We haven't been to this before. We've just discovered
it.' That's so good, isn't it? It's so satisfying!
How much of these values are a legacy of the
chapel?
It's probably inherited from my family's Methodism - being
friendly, being sociable, being jolly and not too much drinking,
d'you know what I mean? I mean, you can do all that without being
drunk. My father used to run tennis parties in the village, and
people always gath ered at the farm - though not on the same
scale! It was always a friendly place.
You take a minimal salary, is that
correct?
Actually, I didn't take it last year. Nor the year before,
funnily enough. Officially, I get £60,000 a year salary. But I'm
not pretending I'm poor or anything. I have an income from the farm
and I am well off.
John Wesley said: 'Earn all you can, save all you
can, give all you can:
Yeah, that's great. I love that! It's a classic
statement.
And you do give a lot of money
away.
From the festival, we donate £2 million a year to all the
good causes we support. We're divvying it out, basically, so that
people get the benefit of all that money that is created at Worthy
Farm. I get an incredible amount of pleasure from dishing stuff
out. I'm doing it every day. It sounds a little bit benefactorish,
I know, but we have the money and I decide where it goes. People
write to me every day and I give out £25 here, £500 there. I just
read the letters and make my mind up about how much we're going to
give.
So, it's not just the big charities such as
Greenpeace, Oxfam and WaterAid that you
support?
We do little ones as well. And stuff goes to the chapel -
and even the Church of England, even though we are supposed to be
rivals! We were always rivals, years ago, because they were
establishment and [the Methodists] were sort of working-class or
yeoman types. This is a very strong Nonconformist area. There are
the Quakers in Street, the Methodists in Pilton... I did a talk at
Lyme Regis the other day for the University of the Third Age and
there was a woman there from this area and she said that the
festival wouldn't have survived anywhere else in the country. Just
here it works, because there's a strong nonconformist and
anti-establishment tradition. She made that observation and she
was, like, a professor of something, looking into fossils on the
Dorset coast. And I think it was really astute.
I understand that you don't like taking foreign
holidays. Have you been abroad?
Oh, just occasionally, yeah. But sitting on the beach in
the south of Spain drinking gin and tonic just doesn't appeal to me
at all. We'd rather pop down to Cornwall for a long weekend or
something every now and again.
Do you buy yourself luxuries of any kind?
Oh yeah. I mean, we have a good life, really. We eat out
quite a bit. I bought a little Mini 14 years ago as a wedding
present for my wife. She didn't drive it for a year - she was
embarrassed. She does now, though. I ask her, 'Should we change it
for something slightly more comfy?' and she says: 'No, no, I want
to keep it!' I have got Land Rovers, and two or three bikes. You
know what I mean? I'm not suffering.
Your style of beard is quite religious, isn't it,
like those worn by the Amish and the Mennonites. They renounced
moustaches originally because they saw them as a mark of pride. Was
that your thinking?
It's not that. It's for kissing! That's the
secret.
Did you ever have a full
beard?
Yeah, I did try it once. I didn't like it.
You didn't like it or she didn't like
it?
The girl didn't like it, either! Do you have any hobbies -
other than kissing? No, I'm afraid not. We walk for miles along the
coast in Cornwall, but that's not a hobby, is it,
really?
Do you ever feel as though you're leading three
different lives?
You're down with the cows, you're in chapel and
then you're on stage with the Rolling Stones.
Yeah, but it's all good - it all works together. Oh, it's
a hell of a good life, isn't it? It's a hell of a good mix. But I
do run for cover to the chapel on Sunday mornings.
You run for cover? Why?
I don't know. I get some sense of security. We go to
chapel every Sunday morning without fail for an hour and do the
whole thing with the children and Sunday school and all that stuff,
d'you know what I mean? And it's really important to me. The
worrying thing is whether the new generation of kids have got the
grounding that I had.I'm very chuffed with my life, but what about
everybody else out there?
Do your grandchildren go to
chapel?
Yeah.
How can the church today compete against the best that
entertainment can offer? I don't know what the church can do. It's
really wor rying, isn't it? I mean, at our little chapel we're
about 35 people, which is not bad in a village of 900, is it? But I
can get 200,000 people together on the farm - and we sell all the
tickets within 30 minutes. There is huge de mand and it's
increasing all the time. It's unbelievable, really, isn't it? And
yet the chapel -young people are not interested in that. They get
put off, don't they, by all sorts of things.
You wouldn't want your chapel to be more
entertaining, though, would you? You wouldn't want flashing
lights.
No, I wouldn't want to change it. I quite like the old
fashioned style of it. The old preachers that do really well are
fundamental believers in the word of the Bible and stuff and it's
good listening to them. I really don't know how to get that across
to young people, or whether they need it or not. I'm not absolute
ly sure that they need it - but I think they do,
actually.
Do you think that rock music in a way addresses
that part of people that preachers used to
address?
I don't know. I think that the whole social thing - as I
said, living together and getting on together and enjoy ing
themselves - that's similar, really, to a religious experience,
isn't it? It's not quite the same, though, is it?
If you didn't have chapel, do you think you'd be
more egotistical or..?
I do hope it's made a difference, to my social attitudes
and things. I'm sure it has - all that preaching and EP Thompson
and stuff.
I can't understand why you're not convinced about
God.
I don't like to [claim] there's something out there that I
can't really prove, d'you know what I mean?
But isn't it fundamental? You're worshipping
God...
But it's not abundantly clear what God is, that's the
problem.
Yet you still sing praises to
him?
Yeah, I do. I love singing. Praise to the Creator, yeah -
oh my God, yeah! There's nothing like it. The birds sing their
heads off first thing in the morning and last thing at night but
they don't understand what God is, do they?
You identify with the birds?
Yeah!
And they don't read the Bible,
either.
No, they don't! No, they don't!
Are you a fan of William
Blake?
Yeah, I do love William Blake. I don't really understand
him, though. Nobody does. I had colon cancer about 20 years ago and
I was off work for about three months, so I read the whole of that
biography of Blake by Peter Ackroyd.7 And another one.
Was that a worrying time for you, when you had
cancer?
Well, I thought I might die, obviously. My father died of
colon cancer. I might have prayed, actually. I said I didn't pray
but I might have prayed on that occasion.
But then you stopped?
Yeah.
'I haven't heard from that Michael Eavis for
ages!'
I know, it's not fair, is it? It's really, really
mean.
1 Most notably, Fleetwood Mac,John Mayall, Ten Years
After, Led Zeppelin, The Nice and Chicken Shack
2 See bit.ly/1IzSvCP.
3 3 ind.pn/1MRvMIH
4 Ballantine Books, 1969
5 See bit.ly/1SVoW4m.
6 See ind.pn/1UhPuiW.
7 Blake (Sinclair Stevenson, 1995)
