24th-26th August 1991: Street Level Free Party in Cassington, Oxfordshire

Update: Darren sent us his account of the night, thanks Darren! 🙂

A chapter from my life where I attempted to rescue an invisible girl from the murky depths of a quarry

Darren Worrow

It’s 2015 and I’m just a shitty delivery driver blindly following a sat-nav through Oxfordshire, that’s how much I progressed in my life. Yeah could blame it on my youth, but I’d rather not reminisce on the endless parties, psychedelia and various shenanigans. Much as nostalgia gratifies me, they all blur into one great festival of perpetual hedonism. But memories slip into the empty fish-tank of my head whilst voyaging along these monotonously congested roads.

Using back roads I’m passing through the sleepy village of Cassington, a shard of recollection sweeps, a chapter from my life where I attempted to rescue an invisible girl from the murky depths of a quarry with a lone traveller non too impressed by the authenticity of the emergency.

Thing is there seems to be no sign of a railway track here and I distinctly recall a train track in which “ravers,” as they were termed during the period, were sternly warned by the master of ceremonies, not to sunbathe or even wander the train track, being it was a train track and well, trains tend to trek along them; understandable concern really.

I find, some way out of the village a railway over a bridge, I stop there for a smoke-o and scan the horizon for a quarry. Yeah this must be the track but, jaded as my memory is, I know accurately there was a quarry too; have good reason to.

Does it matter, why do I feel the need to locate the sites of these wild free raves for anyway, to relish in memories of gold, to recapture my youth, or simply to have confirmation these things really happened at all?

You see if you came here looking to precise details about the event I apologise, it may be the passing of the years, or the man in the Brocade trilby and puffer-jacket who kindly sold me some party accessories, but my memory is jaded.

I cannot recall how I got there, estimating my friend and I scrounged a lift by hanging outside our local watering hole asking any passer-by if they were going to the party, as that was our usual method pre-driving test. With equal vagueness I recall getting home, but as for the bit in the middle, well, memories are fond and surprisingly vivid.

A year away from the supermassive events at Lechlade and Castlemorton this occasion was sizable, wedged in a valley between the train lines and the quarry, a grassland dancefloor was packed, with the sound system situated to the east and the car parking area to the west.

The party was humming and I did my traditional meandering away from friends who favoured loitering at the car parking zone. Still in darkness around the dance area I perchance to befriend a rather charismatic young lady with a Cheshire cat grin and eyes like saucers.

We danced for an undeterminable period, but time was never an issue here. Then we stepped back to take a breather where she kindly shared her bottle of water and lent me a chewing gum to ease my vibrating jaw, a symptom of the aforementioned party accessories.

At that time the modern designer drug they called simply “E” was costly compared with the price tag of later years, but rather than exorbitant they had a higher quality which the later versions simply never matched. Nevertheless budget was low and I would top up my experience with a square of cardboard they dubbed “acid.” In my infinite wisdom, rather than stash said cardboard square upon my person for later consumption, I feared I may lose it and therefore the best storage option I had was my stomach.

Miraculously I convinced the girl to saunter up the bank with me under the cunning temptation of constructing a cannabis cigar. We wandered and chatted, I expressed my emotional state; how in awe I was at the serenity and togetherness of the raves and pondered if only real life could harness this ethos. My profound ramblings were lost though when she turned her head and said, “You what mate? You’ll have to speak up; I’m partially deaf in this ear.”

Enjoying each other’s company, we covered some ground; over the bank and into dark reedy grassland. I stopped as the greenness below seemed to halt, there was a clear drop ahead; into a disused quarry, I was led to believe.

It was at this point I looked up to the starry night but as I dropped my head back to Earth she had vanished. I called her name and her reply came, “I’m down here!”

As much as the manner of intoxication caused a collective and calm experience, I fear meshed with the cardboard square, things tended to get muddled. I panicked, figuring she had fallen into the quarry. Had I turned around or at least sensed the voice came from behind and not in front of me, I may have realised she simply descended the bank, back towards the rave.

Rational thinking I called down, ordering her to stay there and I would get help. I shifted along the bank, plunging once I spotted a traveller’s coach. Figuring if anyone could assist it would be them; they were bound to have a rope if anyone here had. I threw myself at a large chap, attired in traditional traveller garb and crusty dreadlocks. After a short communication breakdown the kindly fellow realised I wasn’t seeking party accessories and managed to produce a tow-rope and powerful torch.

Not willing to part with them he joined me on the rescue. United we peered over the bank, I was certain I had returned to the exact point, he was doubtful of my sense of direction. The traveller shone his torch down there and called down, increasing his pessimism about my claim. I assured him it was real, even pointed out she was deaf in one ear.

As he grew fretful of my sanity, I grew concerned she was unconscious down there and tried to convince him I was authentically in trouble. He shook his head and instructed me to taunt the end of the towrope as he steadied himself and lowered himself down the perilous side of the bank. He scrambled a quarter down and shone his effective torch at the bottom of the dry quarry. Then returned to the surface to inform me he could not see anyone down there.

If I was sure, he ascertained with a sigh, we needed help. So we dashed to his coach to rally some able-bodied men. Upon our return I was dismayed, and looked out at the dancing ravers having fun, blissfully unaware of the peril one of their tribe was currently in. It was at that point one charismatic young lady with a Cheshire cat grin and eyes like saucers passed by, looking strikingly similar to the girl down the quarry. “Alright mate?” she grinned as she passed, “what happened to you, I was looking for ya?”

Once explained the situation to the travellers and made a quick exit, I referred the anecdote to the girl and she nodded her understanding but, was gone from my life as quick as she came into it; sensible choice really…..

Freepartypeople: Heard about this a looong time ago but didn’t attend it myself. Allegedly went on for 3 days and was still running on the Monday, hence the dates at the top of this post (Saturday 24th to Monday 26th).

Were you there? What was it like? Please leave a message in the comments.

Found some great photos on this page:
http://www.its-all-about-flyers.com/viewtopic.php?f=43&t=768 Thanks to the original uploader, they’re great shots.

We also found a drawing of the party, which is a first for this site 🙂
http://www.flickr.com/photos/leehutchinson/542987905/
The same Flickr user also uploaded a newspaper cutting about the party:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/leehutchinson/552921413/
Thanks whoever you are! I thought I’d link to your page rather than just nicking the image, ‘cos that’s not nice, I like what you’re written as well.

And here’s an Easygroove and DiY tape from the event. I listened to it a while back and I remember there’s a funny bit where he gets on the mic and starts complaining about a lack of Special Brew ;P It was a bit tricky to find, but we finally tracked it down on a Polish website!

http://www.stressfactor.co.uk/resources/portal/index.php?name=Downloads&req=getit&lid=1422

Also available on Youtube, but I don’t know whether this is the complete set or not:

24th October 1992: Frequency Oblivion at Crossways, Dorset

We know there was a party at Crossways in Dorset on this date but do we know anything else about it? Nope. Help us fill in the gaps if you can!

Frequency Oblivion sound system

Can anyone help us fill in more details about the parties put on by this free party crew from Dorset? Any dates or locations? Flyers or photos?  Memories, however hazy? Let us know in the comments 🙂

Here’s a link to party reports on one of their dos: 29 May 1993: Frequency Oblivion at Batcombe Down picnic area, Dorset

They also put on a party on 24th October 1992. If you were there, visit this page and add your memories in the comments section: 24th October 1992: Frequency Oblivion at Crossways

A contributor sent us this:

I’ve been meaning to write a report on Frequency Oblivion’s free parties in Dorset. The parties were raw and outlaw. They were put on by DJ Diola and a few others whose names I can’t remember, from Dorchester. I first started attending when we realised we wouldn’t have to go all the way to London for an all night rave. These local heroes put on parties in the Dorchester area. I can remember attending a few but the only locations I can remember are Crossways, where I believe they put on a few parties, and a very muddy Batcombe Down.  In some ways these parties were even more intense and intimate than the larger warehouse parties and festivals put on by the better-known sound systems, because we knew half of the people around us. Occasionally these dos were indoors, but mostly they were in forest clearings and picnic areas. They got busted at least once, but mysteriously got their rig returned in record time.

29 May 1993: Frequency Oblivion at Batcombe Down picnic area, Dorset

Here’s a report from simonmathewson.blogspot.co.uk :

Diary entry:

Very wonky ketamine, sooper speeding into space on a stormy boat. Mental muddy. So stringy Tai Chi movements, seriously who am I and do I care – whose anyone? Just move like this it’s ace.

Lying in the boot of X’s mum’s car; the rain lashing down; hard distorted techno coming out of the sound system, everyone on ketamine. Feeling like we were in a rocket rushing through a space storm. In the morning saw loads of K heads dancing on their knees in the mud and the DJ (Diola?) playing some Hawaiian steel guitar as the rain continued to pour down.

Here’s a report from an anonymous commenter:

The weather was so awful I think we ended up spending most of the party squashed up in someone’s car, getting to know new people who had clambered into the boot! I’m still friends with one of them today, by the way. Ketamine had become quite popular, and the combination of a rainy, muddy, windswept picnic area, wobbly, up for it party people, and nosebleed techno added up to a pretty loopy party. I, too,  remember seeing people dancing to Hawaiian steel guitar music on their knees in the mud as it was getting light, and exhortations (maybe on the mic) from someone trying to get us to dance rather than cower in our cars. It was always risky to bring your rig out so it must have been disappointing to have made the effort only to be rewarded with the site of load of cars parked up, still with their passengers inside. I blame the weather. And the K, to some extent, but in those days K was cheap and new and fun, and, had the weather been better there would have been heaps of us wobbling about on the dancefloor. There were parties, too, though, even early in the nineties, where people really had overdone it on K and were lying around semicomatose. Not really an up for it happening party crew! I have the same feelings about GBL/GHB abuse. Anyway, at this early stage, K was fun, and made you feel like a drunk, happy, chatty robot. I can’t remember anything alse apart from was a confusing ketamised visit to the loo (er, not a loo as such but a very steep slope covered with nettles). Happy days.

22nd February 1992: Bedlam free party at Unigate warehouse, Park Royal, London

Update 21.10.12: Another diary extract from http://simonmathewson.blogspot.co.uk/

Diary entry:

Dance, dance, dance, dance. Non-stop fucking getting lost, Tom – K case, eyes bulging out, saw Grooverider or some DJ total fossilised face.

I don’t remember much about this party; according to my diary entry I danced a lot, so the music and drugs must have been good.  There was a big bonfire outside the warehouse and at sunrise, as the drugs were wearing off I was invited out by a friend of mine to smoke some MDMA. That got me feeling pretty mashed again. For some reason I then found myself sat in DJ Loftgroover’s beige Jaguar, and I thought he looked like he had a fossilised face.

An anonymous contributor to the blog sent us this report:

Where to start? This was year zero for me in terms of parties, the first of which took place on February 22nd in a disused Unigate warehouse on a defunct industrial estate somewhere in West London.

We had originally intended to travel to a local party in the adjoining county, but as we were driving from meeting point to meeting point, we realised we were half-way to London anyway. Often, as the years progressed, this kind of mission ended in failure. But not this time.

We arrived, after a bit of fiddly driving, at a vast warehouse with large fires burning outside. This was situated on a large patch of rubbly wasteground adjoining the main road.

I remember remarking at the time that I felt like I was in a foreign country. There is nothing quite like realising that you have just entered a country within a country where no/new rules apply and the only goal is hedonism. The party seemed to be everlasting (although us lightweights chickened out by Sunday afternoon).

I can still remember the pit-of-the-stomach, wobbly legged euphoric feeling of entering that warehouse. We had to enter via a door in the upper part of the warehouse, and descend a staircase into the depths of the party, all the while getting a bird’s eye view of the deafening and blinding spectacle. There was an incredibly intense vibe. The place was full of people dancing. The music was very hard, the lighting minimal. My first proper party was everything my friends had told me to expect  and more.

There was one point in the night where I looked around for one of my travelling companions and he appeared at my side, however, as I looked, I started seeing double, and then in triplicate, and then there was a whole row of him!

The music I remember being very hard, the lighting was very minimal.

We felt like we were living in the future- the experience seemed so magical, so unlike anything in our everyday lives.

DJ’s? Unknown. Hours spent dancing? Can’t remember (but probably a lot). Amount of fun had? Immeasurable.

I picked up this flyer at the party: