he London Pride Lions were born not of old myth or ancient land, but of defiance, laughter, and glitter on a rainy afternoon.
It was the year of the rain and the fields of the Friars’ Gate were thick with mud and murmurs. A fierce storm had scattered tents and soaked the bonfires, and most folk retreated to their wagons and flasks, waiting for clearer skies.
But from the North Royal Tower gate came a group of travelers like no others—drenched, disheveled, and utterly dazzling. They wore velvet and leather, tulle and tartan, corsets and Union Jack top hats with rainbow plumes. Some arrived on motorcycles, others on foot, arm-in-arm and laughing like they'd never heard thunder before.
At their head strode a woman named Gloria Day—six foot four in heels, eyes lined in gold, and voice like a church bell. With her walked her husband, Rupert, a former Beefeater turned bard, and with them, their adopted family of musicians, outcast nobles, and unapologetic misfits.
They set up their encampment in the worst of the floodplain, named it Pride Rock, and immediately hosted a tea dance in the mud. By sundown, they had built a makeshift stage, hauled out a brass band, and coaxed half the festival back out into the storm. By midnight, their camp had become the loudest, brightest, and most joyful place at Friars’ Gate.
The London Pride Lions, they called themselves—"London" because that's where most of them had met, "Pride" for who they were and who they'd never stop being, and "Lions" because they would not be silenced, sidelined, or ignored.
In the years that followed, the Lions returned to the festival bigger and bolder. Ceremony and circumstance were beloved by the pride. They adored royalty, procedures and grand gestures. They brought parades, pop-up weddings, cabarets, and safety patrols for anyone who needed a safe place to land.
They adopted newcomers and old timers alike, decorated their camp with roaring lion heads and made it known: you are welcome here, as you are. Especially if the world has told you otherwise.
The London Pride Lions handle the entertainment and spectacles of the Festival and no one can tell them otherwise.
Their colors are gold and purple, royal and brilliant.
Their crest: a lion rampant with a glittering mane, crowned in gold and roaring proudly.
And their motto—sung more often than spoken—is: “Louder. Brighter. Together.”
Today, the London Pride Lions stand not just as a camp, but a symbol—of chosen family, joyful resistance, and the fierce kind of love that turns a storm into a celebration.
If you find yourself alone at the festival, look for the purple flags and follow the music. The Lions are always waiting with open arms, a warm drink, and a dancefloor ready.