Away with the fairies: magic and mystery at a unique festival
I’m totally off my face,” cries sound-healer Debbi Walker. It’s 11.45am and she’s just finished bathing me in a cacophony of twinkling sounds reminiscent of something Tinkerbell would appear to. (I had tried to focus on connecting with my “inner wisdom”, but my ears instead tune into a woman outside the tent talking about the amount of crystals hidden in her underwear drawer.) I’m part of a group experiencing the gentle tap of metal pipes and tuning forks around our heads, while we sway and rock to the vibrations. Debbi, who has curly silver hair flowing down to her waist, looks like an ethereal goddess as she dances between us in a floor-length grey corseted dress. I’m encouraged to hold hands with strangers as we hum in various pitches (mine mainly out of tune) and whisper blessings such as “love” and “gratitude” into a sound-healing bowl.
I’m here for the annual 3 Wishes Fairy Festival, a gathering “nestling on a leyline” in Glastonbury full of folk music, folklore and those who believe in magic. Earlier in the day, while picking up my morning coffee, an elf beside me ordered “pancakes and strawberries with fairy dust on top, please.” Neon pink glitter blew past as he carried it away.
More than 1,500 people attend this quirky event over three days. Karen Kay, the founder, claims to be “half fairy, half mermaid and half human” and has put fairies into the mainstream; she believes in them so much that she left her job as a BBC news editor to do this full-time. While the event is family-friendly, this is not to be mistaken as a children’s festival and mainly adults attend. The event describes itself as a “gathering of the Celtic faerie clans”. In 2018, they broke the world record for the most people wearing unicorn horns in a single location. There are no rules other than “be nice”. “It’s about spreading love, light and joy into the world,” explains Kay.
Before Debbi Walker became a sound therapist, her background was in NHS nursing, “but the job made me very sick,” she explains, adding that she was housebound with chronic fatigue syndrome. But then, “I found sound at a festival in 2010 and it changed my life.” She acknowledges that it took a while for her science brain to come around but, after doing a clinical trial about how sound helps mental health, she left nursing to teach sound healing full-time.
“We were in a beautiful sacred sound bubble just now, it is a bit hippy and airy-fairy, but I marry this with the world of science,” she says. Before we part ways, I offer to join her for a drink later. “I don’t drink,” she replies and it takes me a few seconds to realise she wasn’t “off her face” in the way I’d interpreted earlier. She was, instead, drunk on the healing energy and positive effects of the atmosphere around her.
After pulling me and the Observer photographer into a group hug, Debbi disappears into a sea of bubbles and fairy wings, leaving me to move on to a spot of enchanted wand-making, where I am allowed to go feral with beads and ribbon. Afterwards, I make my way through the crowd with my new creation, past Alice in Wonderland-style picnic tables, wooden structures not dissimilar to what you’d find in an enchanted forest and picnic blankets full of teacups and crockery. There are stalls filled with crystals, windchimes, fairy houses and flower crowns. Fairy wings caress my face as I come upon a man covered in bark, mushrooms and animal skulls. He proudly introduces himself as “the King of the Pixies” and suddenly I am all too aware of how “human” I look. I ask him what it means to be King of the Pixies, excited to hear what being royalty in the magical realm entails. But he replies: “Erm, I don’t know really, I’ve not got anything to say on that.”
Determined to find out more about what identifying as a magical being means, I make my way to the Mermaid Lagoon. The water (a paddling pool) has been blessed with a spell and Cornish sea salt. Mischief, a 44-year-old professional mermaid, is also an SSI Ocean Mermaid free-dive instructor. “If people are trying to work out whether mermaids are real or not, they are wasting their time,” she tells me. “Too much of our water is undiscovered to ever know, it’s safe from the infection of human impact. Mermaids are an example of the freedom of the ocean. Humans need to start respecting the ocean more… when a mermaid is born, it’s about empowerment and a need to put some mermagic into this world. This magic shows us the way to protect our seas and our mental health,” Mischief explains.
“Everyone at this festival has a wish to believe in the energy and power of this amazing world and its creatures, everyone is acknowledging how lucky we are.” She hands me a shell with her email address written on it in Sharpie before continuing, “being a mermaid has helped me focus on what’s important, that living is a gift and we shouldn’t waste a moment, I share this because everyone deserves to know how magical they are.”
Next I talk to River Jordan, who has been in the fairy community her whole life. “I’ve always been drawn to the elements and anything mystical,” she explains in a soft and playful voice. We are constantly interrupted by children running up to her, desperate for an embrace from a fairy queen. “I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up, people always told me it wasn’t possible – but it is,” she insists, adding: “Don’t let anyone tell you that you have to grow up.”
In 2021, River was diagnosed with stage 3 inflammatory breast cancer. Three months after chemotherapy, radiotherapy and one mastectomy, she discovered another lump and had to go through it again. “All in all, I’ve had 24 rounds of chemotherapy, 15 rounds of radiotherapy, three mastectomies – because one went wrong – and a partridge in a pear tree,” she bows. “What I love about fairy imagery, is that they are often breastless or nippleless and their faces can be gnarly and different. When I go into nature there is no judgment, in this world, people look different and fairies help me find love and self-acceptance.” Embracing differences is something that is instantly apparent throughout the entire festival. Not only is it fully plant-based, it is sure to make all feel welcome, with safe spaces and full access for disabled guests.
After being attracted to a circus tent, I stick my head inside and glimpse a woman wrapped in silks hanging from the roof above someone dressed as a giant panda, and decide to make my way to what I hope will be the relatively uncomplicated market stalls.
I inspect some elf ears and, before I know it, my own ears are soon replaced with pointed elf tips. “They suit you more than I’ve ever seen on anyone,” the stall-holder exclaims excitedly, thrusting a mirror into my hands. As I continue on my way an elderly lady drifts past and wisely smiles before saying, “You’ve acquired ears I see.” Other people greet me with smiles and compliments on my ears and encourage me to visit other stalls to build my elf character with more props and accessories.
A cacao ceremony – based on ancient Aztec and Mayan traditions to promote healing and self-exploration – is scheduled for 6pm, so I make my way to the stand for a little tester drink. On my way I pass two people dressed as unicorns and someone on a penny farthing. A lot of the ceremony that I witness uses phrases like “the divine masculine” and the “divine feminine”, while instruments I can’t even begin to guess the name of are played. The cacao was delicious, but I wasn’t as moved by the ceremony as others seemed to be. While people vehemently sway with their eyes closed and hands in front of their faces, I creep out, too buzzed from the cacao to concentrate on listening and, instead, make my way to the face-paint tent.
By 11pm, my face is painted with witch-like symbols, my elf ears are pointing out of a fully beaded cowboy hat and I have two long neon pink and orange wool dreadlocks plaited into my hair. I’ve bopped to the beats of Fatboy Tim (no that isn’t a typo) and danced with a green-horned troll. A German fairy has spun me round, giggling and flicking her hair before planting a labradorite ring on my finger and running away.
When I find organiser Karen Kay again, she engulfs me with hugs, shouting: “You’ve been fairy-fied!” While I might not believe in fairies, I certainly believe in the power a wonderful community like this has to lift your spirits. Although adults dressing as fairies might be misunderstood to those who aren’t in the subculture, their warmth, easy welcome and acceptance of those who are different showcase what’s often missing from the world. For the first time in weeks, my cheeks hurt from smiling. In an overwhelming year full of darkness and stress, blowing bubbles with fairies might not be top of your list, but don’t be surprised if you find it’s exactly the kind of weekend you didn’t know you needed.
• This article was amended on 4 November 2024. In an earlier version the caption accompanying the photo of River Jordan said, “I’ve bopped to the beats of Fatboy Tim and danced with a green-horned troll”. To clarify, these were the words of the article’s author, writing about the festival; they have been replaced to refer directly to River Jordan.
