The Shrovetide Match

The Match

The Royal Shrovetide Football Match has been a two-day fixture for the village of Ashbourne for at least 346 years. I made my first appearance this year in order to find out where our ‘Beautiful Game’ came from.

The game is simple enough; there are two teams the Up’ards and the Down’ards. Players are allocated to either team based on which side of the Henmore River they hail from and then they are tasked with getting the ball to their team’s goal, both of which are located one-and-a-half miles from the centre of Ashbourne.  There are rules; no trespassing, avoid cemeteries, don’t transport the ball in a motorised vehicle and don’t murder anybody.

The second day of the match began at 2pm with the Up’ards leading by a goal scored the previous day. The ball was ‘turned-up’ from a plinth in the middle of the village whereby possession of it was immediately fought for. A mass scrum known locally as the ‘hug’ soon formed with my Down’ards taking the offensive. The game’s resemblance to Rugby Football can be seen all around; the majority of players wear hooped jerseys, many possess the physiques of props and there are several ‘runners’ lingering around the ‘hug’ waiting for an opportunity to move the ball forward quickly. My average build meant I could only contribute some weight to the Down’ard’s ‘hug.’ I was relieved to find that I would be pushing the ball forwards nearly all afternoon rather than holding back half a village.

The game’s other title of ‘Mob Football’ is not unfair, while there is little malicious violence the lack of team colours means it is hard to differentiate players.  Being in the ‘hug’ can also be somewhat perilous; the mass of bodies before me meant I had no idea where I was about to tread and brief crushes had me struggling for breath. Such complaints seem redundant compared to the heroes/lunatics who chose to carry the ball while being squashed from both sides by dozens of men. My only touches of the ball turned out to be pretty pathetic; on two occasions I flapped and kicked at it like it was a beach ball being completely naive to its weight. Both times the ball travelled about a yard forward.

There are veterans standing towards the back of the ‘hug’ bellowing instructions. Usually they cry “Heave!” to help synchronise the movement of their teammates so they can make steady progress like a Roman legion as opposed to a tangle of legs. Occasionally flair tactics are employed like “Get it in the river!” as a means of testing the other team’s will to get dirty.

After five draining hours I left the match in a steep ditch where it was being illuminated by hand torches, with the Down’ards just two fields from their goal. I’d promised to watch the Champions League with friends; although I wish I’d snubbed seeing Rooney and Ronaldo in favour of helping my side of the mob score.