What it’s like to do Kate Bush Day, the ultimate event for Wuthering Heights fans
A hush falls across the crowd, only disturbed by the lightest of breezes and the lone call of a gull on the air. The feeling of anticipation builds as close to a thousand people clad in red dresses wait on bended knee, eyes trained towards the ground, standing by for their cue. And then, finally, it comes – the tinkling opening piano notes that signify we are about to begin. The world seems to hold its breath, just for a moment.
As the unmistakable falsetto warble of British songstress Kate Bush rings out across the impromptu 520-metre-long concrete stage, setting the scene – not quite the “wily, windy moors”, but close enough – every single member of the assembly slowly raises one arm in unison. Every single person bends their arm backwards, then forwards, then pulls it back down. Turns their head to the side. Looks back to centre. Drags a hand emotively in front of their face. For the next four minutes and 28 seconds, the real world does not exist. For the next four minutes and 28 seconds, we are all transported into the world of “Wuthering Heights”.
This is “The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever” – or, as it’s more colloquially known, Kate Bush Day – a beautiful, bonkers annual tribute to the cult musician’s most famous song. Inspired by the original event first held in Brighton as part of Brighton Fringe in 2013, the brainchild of performance collective Shambush, this particular iteration is being held in the seaside town of Folkestone, Kent, on its handily capacious Harbour Arm jutting into the English Channel.
The concept has proven so popular that it’s subsequently spawned countless copycats around the world, having taken place in Australia, Canada, the US, Denmark, Finland, Sweden, Germany, Croatia, France, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Ireland, Belgium, Bulgaria, Mexico, Italy and Israel.
But, though now embraced by multiple nationalities, The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever is perhaps an example of British eccentricity at its finest: an event that invites anyone and everyone to drape themselves in scarlet and perform a coordinated, choreographed dance routine en masse to recreate the iconic 1978 “Wuthering Heights” music video in which Bush wore a long red dress and whirled around Salisbury Plain. (And when I say anyone, I mean anyone. In the past, I’ve seen hench, bearded men pirouetting in skin-tight strapless gowns, and dogs swaddled in scarlet being gently swayed by owners in matching outfits.)
Why do we do this? If you even have to ask the question, the whole thing’s possibly not for you. A better question might be, “Why not?”
This year’s Folkestone-based Kate Bush Day is happening today, 20 July, but I first came across this display of wholesome quirkiness in 2023, the year after I’d moved here from London. A self-confessed Kate Bush superfan, I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d landed in a town populated by enough over-enthusiastic weirdos that not only did such an event exist, but it was the source of immense excitement. I turned up that first year on two hours’ sleep with a raging hangover – no way was I going to miss this – to find that here were my people, hundreds of them, all giddily pouring onto the Harbour Arm. I hadn’t had time to fully learn the dance and was mainly winging it, raggedly wafting my arms around in time to the music, but it hardly mattered. It was such a pure, unadulterated delight to move in unison with that swelling crowd, to feel part of something far greater than myself. The joy in the air was palpable; my face hurt from smiling so much. By the end of that first dance, I felt like a new woman, practically vibrating with energy and goodwill.
“I must say, 2023 was quite a surprise,” says Toby Cotton, a Folkestone local who now organises the entire event in his spare time alongside fellow residents Jo Blach and Issy Oakes. “We weren’t expecting that many people.”
The first Folkestone Kate Bush Day took place in 2018, masterminded by a man called Pete Burkinshaw. He’d come across the Brighton event and was convinced that Folkestone, with its growing community of creatives and artists, was just the kind of place where the template would work. That inaugural year, around 150 to 200 people showed up. The following year garnered 300 participants. Then, the pandemic forced a three-year hiatus as Covid restrictions prevented big gatherings. Pete passed the organisational baton to Toby, and in 2023 – the year I attended for the first time – more than a thousand Kates descended upon the town.
“I think it was so much bigger after the pandemic because we were looking for excuses to get together in big groups again – to get together with lots of other people, all enjoying the same thing,” posits Toby. “And it turned out Pete was right: Folkestone is a good place to do it, the sort of place where people would embrace such a thing!”
The joy in the air was palpable; my face hurt from smiling so much
After the revelation of 2023’s Kate Bush Day, I decided that only one thing could further elevate the experience – becoming a lead dancer. While there are videos of the choreography online and a few public practice sessions in the run-up to the event so that people can learn the routine, on the day itself, around 10 “head Kates” are stationed along the Harbour Arm. Standing on small podiums and facing the crowd, they perform the dance in mirror image so that everyone else can follow them.
As a natural performer (OK, show-off) whose signature karaoke song already happened to be “Wuthering Heights”, I felt it was quite possibly my destiny to be up there among those hallowed men and women. Thankfully, it’s not the kind of gig that requires any kind of formal audition process – more a casual chat down the pub – and, lo and behold, by 2024’s gathering, I had secured my spot.
What transpired was, genuinely, one of the most lovely, heart-warming and life-affirming days of my life thus far. Though an English summer is never bankable, 2024’s Kate Bush Day was blessed with a chicory flower-blue sky and blazing sun. The sea was at her most enchanting: calm and smooth as a millpond, in her signature shade of dazzling teal.
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From 10am, the most eager Kates had already started arriving. They flocked into the Goods Yard, Folkestone Harbour’s outdoor street food plaza, ready to limber up with a warm-up session and begin doing practice runs to check they’d nailed every step. Ninety minutes later marked the official Procession of the Kates. It’s quite possibly the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like a celebrity – holding a red placard emblazoned with the words “Follow me, I’m Cathy!” aloft as I led hundreds of people in red dresses behind me, like a bizarre Pied Piper.
And then, at 12pm, it was time. We sank to our knees; quiet descended; time stood still. I could feel, quite literally, a thousand eyes on me as those first lyrics blasted out of the speakers. As I gently raised my arm, so did the sea of scarlet in front of me. As I lowered it, they followed suit. I felt imbued with the kind of power normally reserved for gods or dictators.
I felt imbued with the kind of power normally reserved for gods or dictators
That first rendition passed by in a blur. I was so focused on not messing up the moves and leading my flock astray – and on not spinning so vigorously that I’d topple from my tiny platform – that I barely registered what was happening until the very end. The last minute and 20 seconds is really just freestyle, an excuse for everyone to skip and sway and undulate to the impressively long instrumental outro in whatever way they see fit.
“Fancy doing all that again?” asked Toby over the mic. A cheer went up. “I’ll take that as a yes!”
This time, I made a conscious effort to reside in the moment. With every step, I took a mental snapshot: the sharp, eye-popping contrast between the blue-green of the water and the human wall of red; the way the throng moved so beautifully as one, as if we were all part of a single, throbbing organism. But, mainly, I homed in on the faces in front of me. Every single one of them was beaming, infused with an almost holy glow of exultation. And, indeed, it did feel somehow sacred, strange as that may sound. How often, after all, do we ever come together with strangers and do something as a collective? How often do we take a moment out of our frantic, busy lives to do a silly, frivolous thing – just for fun, just because it makes our hearts feel full?
When I ask Toby why he loves it, he gives a simple yet similar answer. “It creates such a lovely atmosphere – there’s really this sense that everybody’s doing something for no other reason than that they want to do something fun together,” he says.
And if that’s not reason enough to put on a ridiculous outfit, learn a ridiculous dance and screech from the top of your lungs that “It’s ME, I’m Cathy, I’ve come hoooome!” – well, I don’t know what is.
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