I am not sure of the date so you will have to refer to the historians for that, largely I wanted to tell the response I had from Eileen Caddy the following day after the fire at Cluny Hill.

We had been celebrating a Sacred Dance workshop throughout the week. Despite the scowls from within the Foundation Anna Barton insisted that I should be her co-focaliser. This was a first. I had worked before with her and Bert when I first visited Findhorn in February 1980. There were a few ideas I wanted to familiarise potential dance teachers with, one of these was rhythm and the importance of rhythm to the dancer.

At the time there was a German percussionist and painter living on the Park in a tent and his camper van. We had got on like a house on fire. He had a huge collection of percussion instruments including various tambourines and round head drums and god alone knows what else. Bodo Baginski was another of the ‘fringe’ people that the Foundation looked askance at.

Anna knew him and was quite happy for me to invite Bodo to come and join the group for an evening session to explore the idea of rhythm as applied to the dance. As it was an evening session in the Beech Tree Room, the people in the lounge at Cluny came up around 9.00 and said ‘no more drumming please’. At the end of the week there was a sharing in the Hall. I don’t remember whether the Sacred dance band, as it was then constituted, being Rory and myself with a couple of German recorder players and one or two others, played in the Hall. If so we will have played Goddesses, our go to number.

But we also had created a small percussion ensemble with the same German recorder players, using metals bowls from the kitchen, Bodo on his congas, and me on a sruti box. We were joined by a young Californian rock drummer who was determined to ‘show this foundation what he could do’ before he left the next day. There were many such over the years. Those who knew what was best for everyone else.

We began quietly with just the sruti box droning a chord to draw in the other drummers. The players came in singly gradually building together until the Rock drummer, whose name I doubt I knew or have certainly forgotten, came in and beat the life out of the kit he had been loaned. Totally disregarding the other players he just smashed away for all he was worth.

I was dismayed. I looked at the audience and noticed sparks jumping from heart to heart around them, bouncing along the rows. He had not bothered to listen to the advice for each to listen to the others and to fade out gently.

Eventually the virtuoso performance, I won’t say virtuous, ended, and the mistress of ceremonies for the evening had to put on the ‘Chariots of Fire’ popular at the time, theme very loud, to regain control of the strident atmosphere.

We returned, as always with workshops at that time, to Cluny after the Sharing and began our ‘end of workshop party’ in the lounge. Bodo was there as a guest presenter with a variety of instruments he generously shared around the group. The group began to play and quite quickly slid into a 4/4 dominant chunka-chunk pattern. Bodo was frustrated at such a dull rhythm and, playing on a large drum head, performed a roll that cut right across the rhythm the others had slumbered into. As he did so I found myself thinking ‘My God, he’s playing the drums of Hell Fire’. But it worked. The group’s monotony collapsed and he was able to introduce something much more melodic and interesting.

11.00 we were asked to finish the session as people were trying to sleep and eventually all slioped off to our various beds.

I had hardly fallen asleep when I heard the fire alarms going off. ‘Oh God, whats’ going on?’ my immediate thoughts as I slowly pulled myself to consciousness and realised there was a fire and we all had to get out and re-assemble on the tennis courts. I left my balalaika, favoured instrument, and all else, as we had been tutored to leave everything and get to the assembly point as swiftly as possible.

We stood around for what seemed like ages in the wee small hours of the morning and eventually, about 3.30, were allowed to go back to our rooms. The fire brigade had arrived and dealt with everything and no-one was going to be burned alive that night.

The next day, after I had returned to the Park where I was living, I saw Eileen and spoke to her of what had happened at the Sharing, and the guilt that everyone was feeling over the event, as if they were themselves responsible for it. Eileen told me “Always place it under the Christ. Then nothing can go wrong.”

I followed her advice in all my workshops thereafter.


Cluny Hill – archive photo at the time of buying