13th-15th July 1991: Circus Normal, DiY and Free Party People Free Party at Moreton Lighthouse, Birkenhead, Merseyside

Most of chapter 14 of Dreaming in Yellow is devoted to this party, but I’m going to be mean and only include less than three pages. You’ll have to buy the book yourself if you want to read about the adventures experienced by Harry Harrison on his way into the party, and the trials and tribulations of the DiY crew’s return journey. At this stage, the rig has just turned up (they had a club night on the Friday):

By Saturday evening, thousands had arrived, swelled throughout the night as clubs closed, word and flyers flew around and, most of all, because it was featured on the local news. There can be few more surreal experiences than sitting on a traveller’s bus, watching a small television as a news helicopter transmits outraged video footage from above the very vehicle in which one is sitting.

I would wager that more drugs were consumed at the ensuing festival, per head, than any other event in British history. On Saturday night, all-night, through Sunday and on into Monday morning, Black Box rocked the pyramid. Two distinct groupings, the travellers and the scouse ravers merged, both beloved of extreme intoxication and revelry, and amicably at first. More sound systems arrived; Circus Normal set up their enormous rig on the other side of the still-expanding site. And still they came. Barbara arrived in her Renault 4, overladen with Rob’s lightshow. Jack, Pezz and Simon played, John Kelly arrived and went on to a rapturous reaction. Sasha never made it, but it was truly his loss. All our mates from Liverpool rolled in, too numerous to list, as did the Manchester crew, friends from Hull, Bristol, Sheffield, the ever-keen Nottingham massive and many, many more. Conversely, more stolen vehicles were arriving, some driven onto the dance floor, which had expanded onto the grass outside, way beyond the pyramid. Truly wild, truly unique, truly mental. Daylight broke over the estuary, which is when the photo on the cover of this book was taken. On another gloriously sunny day by the Mersey, thousands of people danced through the dawn, through lunchtime and on into the night.

And slowly, things started to get weird; firstly with those of us running things behind the scenes, and eventually a general descent into outright madness. Muggings were being reported, and heavy-duty local gangsters were heard to be taxing travellers. Rumours spread, exaggerated but believed within a large gathering who hadn’t slept for way too long. Someone set fire to a car on the dancefloor; other stolen vehicles were being driven around the site recklessly by fourteen-year-olds on acid. A vintage bus caught fire and, as we rushed round to try and help, we found it was too late; the beautiful wooden body was completely ablaze. Back in Sledger’s Café, we were valiantly still selling food, fending off very hard Scouse lads demanding to know what the fuck a veggie burger was and asking, ‘Where’s the bevvies?’. Several times I looked round to see that cagoule-covered arms had appeared under the side of the tent and were helping themselves to mixtapes. Our perennial source of party funding, the ubiquitous bucket, was having cash stolen from it instead of added, and all the while helicopters buzzed the site overhead. Most partygoers were probably unaware of the bad feeling that was growing behind the scenes as the endless hypnotic rhythms of house music drove the party onwards. It was in many ways a truly fabulous night, driven by huge quantities of pink ecstasy tablets that many thought to be the best they had ever taken. But for every up, there is a down.

What happened was that two very different sets of people collided: the travellers and the scally gangs of Liverpool. Both considered this to be their patch, and in a way they were both correct. Moreton Lighthouse 1991 was a free festival organised by travellers, the site taken by travellers, and the infrastructure and the party created by travellers and associated friends. It was, however, on Merseyside, and so it was geographically within the remit of the Liverpool firms. For the whole of Sunday, the festival rocked on, a riotous, debauched arena of mayhem. Most local people went home on Sunday, no doubt exhausted yet happy, but that was not an option for the travellers. They would eventually leave and end up on a site in Deeside where, allegedly, some of the Liverpool gang came looking for the travellers to settle some scores and five young lads would die in a car crash.

Harry Harrison, Dreaming in Yellow. Velocity Press, 2022, p.162-164.

Here are four tapes from this party, enjoy!

We noticed Circus Normal mentioned in the comments, and the Free Party People tent is in a video, so we added them to this post. Let us know in the comments if you can confirm this. Cheers!

Here are a three videos from this party, shout to Youtuber Tizmip again!

Here’s a flyer:

And a video-

Haven’t seen many videos of this era of free parties, which is sad, but the ones I have seen, like this one, are great! Credit for this one goes to youtube user robberbyker (who I suspect is one of the original Gaye Bykers On Acid, whose music soundtracks the video).

Apparently this was the second party at this venue, the first one was some time in 1990, anyone know when/how many/which sound systems in attendance?

Here’s a quote from Jane Bussmann’s wonderful book ‘Once in a lifetime’- I can’t recommend this book enough. It’s about ‘The Crazy Days of Acid House and Afterwards’ as it says on the cover, and is full of stuff to make you reminisce, chuckle, and occasionally think “what the fuck!”….

And here’s what the book looks like, if you see it, buy it! UPDATE: Now available as an audiobook too!

So, who was there? Got any memories? Doesn’t matter how hazy, just post a comment….