Shrovetide Football

Shrovetide football has been played in Ashbourne in one form or another for at least 350 years. Late to the party as usual this is my first visit. In case you aren’t familiar with the fineries of this longstanding tradition here’s a flying overview:

• Up’ards and Down’ards compete to goal a ball 1.5 miles from the start at Shaw Croft in Ashbourne
• Anyone born north of the river Henmore is a Down’ard, south and you are an Up’ard
• The game starts when a “turner upper” throws the ball into the air from Shaw Croft Plinth
• The game is played over Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday

Think of it as a mass participation game of rugby fuelled by beer that lasts for 2 days. If you want to know more I can recommend the internet

Eerily quiet

As I enter the town this mid-morning the empty bunting-lined streets allude to a genteel affair, if indeed I have got the right day.

Trouble brewing

The mood changes as I begin to notice all of the woodwork being applied to shop-fronts.

Getting out of town

Most businesses warn that they will be closed in the afternoon. In my experience this behaviour is the prelude to a tornado or the visit of Clint Eastwood on horseback.

We don’t want no trouble round here

I wander over to the epicentre of forthcoming action at Shaw Cross in the Waitrose car park. Shoppers are shopping and only a line of sand bags beneath the raised plinth suggest anything out of the ordinary.

Calm before the storm at Shaw Croft Plinth

Due to my lack of research I’m not sure what to do for the next 3 hours until the ball is turned up so I decide to follow other people and see where they are going. To the leisure centre it turns out for the traditional pre-game lunch and speech. All comers are welcomed by Mick Pepper who is this year’s esteemed “turner upper” – ie: the one to start the game by throwing it into the crowd.

Mick (right) meeting and greeting

Many people arrive and they all seem to know Mick and he seems to know them all. There is no sense of competitive rivalry as Up’ards and Down’ards mingle without differentiation.

I gather that an external caterer will be feeding 500 here this lunchtime. Since I’m not one of them I do my own thing until they re-emerge fired up and ready for action some 2 hours later.

Some of the many volunteers

A contingent of fluorescent Shrovetide Marshals lead a procession of VIPs through the streets amidst a small crowd of competitors and photographers, me included.

Mick with this year’s custom built balll

The crowds are waiting at the Bridge on Dig Street where, in accordance with tradition, Mick is picked up and carried through to the plinth at Shaw Croft.

For he’s a jolly good fellow!

Gone are the shoppers and cars of this morning. In their place await thousands of people all jostling for a view of proceedings.

SO many people

Any elevated position is a viewing point. This years event almost didn’t go ahead due to difficulties in obtaining insurance. I’m starting to see why.

Don’t they know what happened to Humpty?

Few folks have the luxury of a window view.

Watching in comfort

Shrovetide football in Ashbourne has received international attention for several years, attracting film makers and foreign tourists. The BBC are here amongst others but they face the same struggle to find a good viewing position.

Destined for the screen

There’s a rendition of Auld Lang Syne and then God Save The Queen plus a speech I can’t hear. Then Mick follows in the footsteps of Brian Clough (1975) and Prince Charles (2003) by launching the ball into the throng.

On your marks, get set…

Despite appearances as a free-for-all there are rules. Most notably murder and manslaughter are forbidden. The ball disappears into the scrum and barely surfaces for 10 minutes.

GO!

It is around this time that many onlookers decide they have ticked the Shrovetide football box and head off to wholeheartedly commit themselves to ticking the Shrovetide drinking box.

The other competition

There must be 10 pubs in the this little town and people are spilling out of each of them this sunny afternoon. It’s sorely tempting to join them except I feel that the game itself deserves a little more attention.

Fuel for footballers

I return to the fringes of the action and decide to set up my tripod on the banks of the river in case the action returns towards town. A gentleman named George tells me that he comes every year on behalf of his truck company to network with clients. Apparently this event is a significant draw for corporate types and the friendly informal nature of Shrovetide is ideal for developing relations. The minimal cost of attendance is shadowed by the potential profit in selling a lorry.

Wait and they will come. (They didn’t)

Runners for each side loiter strategically on the periphery of the scrum ready to receive the ball should it break free and sprint off with it. Unlike other variants of football played around the world Shrovetide football recognises the position of “in the river” as that’s where the ball will inevitably spend some time.

One of the subs

Progress, if that’s the word, is slow with the crowd lumbering slowly around the park. There’s an impasse in the children’s playground which at least makes for some interesting spectator viewing opportunities.

The Up’ards getting on top

Then like the slipping of some tectonic plate the pack darts south back down the slope again and through Henmore Brook. The surrounding crowd rushes out of the way to avoid being trampled and there are shrieks from youngsters as they play their part in this rite of passage.

Who can say what’s going on in there

It’s clear that this is going to carry on for a long time yet. The Up’ards are vaguely on top but there’s another mile to cover if they are going to goal at Sturston Mill.

Time to leave them at it

As the seething mass inches eastward people gradually peel off the core and traipse back towards town to replenish empty plastic pint glasses. With the shadows lengthening and the cold drawing in I make my own escape.

I’m sat at home by the time Vincent Brayne adds his name to the 124 year old Roll Of Honour with a goal for the Up’ards at 7:53pm. Can the Down’ards respond? It all kicks off again tomorrow.

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Light Fantastic

When you have spent most of your life in and around a particular area you get a feeling when genuine change is afoot. I’m not talking about the change sometimes espoused by high profile local figures – rhetoric heavy top-down campaigns lacking in sustained conviction that may have more to do with personal agendas than the common good. I’m referring to the change instigated by or at least widely bought into by the general public.

Derby has had a reputation for being something of a shy inward looking soul. I feel it has previously defined itself largely in terms of an industrial past and perhaps falsely aspired to be like its’ “big brother” Nottingham. Fast forward 20 years and things are vastly different. There has been a massive investment in industry with the likes of Pride Park, retail (Westfield) and infrastructure with the new bus station, modernised train station and (after a 40 year wait!) the imminent completion of the inner ring road. There has also been a notable shift in the city demographic with a great influx of national and international young students swelling University numbers, feeding the economy and driving a creative small business culture. Derby is reclaiming its crown as the city of ideas.

The City has come of age, it has the new found confidence to stop following and start leading. Nowhere is this more evident than in a growing programme of cultural events that is attracting national attention, such as the maturing Derby Feste – now in its third year. And now a new addition to the local calendar is attracting national media interest. The inaugural staging of the week long Derby Gleam festival of light ended last night. I headed out on opening night to take in some of the light shows projected against local city landmarks and returned to see last nights festival finale in defiance of the near freezing fog.

Light Trail projection in The Strand

The Cathedral Quarter light trail is attracting a diverse range of people who, like me, clutch the glossy trail guides that are being handed out around the route. I join the trail on The Strand where rural scenes are being projected against the white walls of a building. Interesting yes, but it’s a little ineffectual due to the surrounding street lighting.

Court like an Egyptian?

A short stroll to the old Magistrates Court reveals a more convincing display. It’s a peaceful setting – normally this street would be deserted in the evening – and there is little light pollution. It’s tough getting any decent photos as the images scroll across the building but it works when you are there…

A courthouse projection

…although some of the images escape my understanding.

Illuminati grafitti?

The strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata emanate as I walk towards the next projection against the Cathedral tower on Iron Gate. This is my favourite yet with spheres of colour gracefully rotating to good effect against this timeless structure. The music is becalming and it is striking to see young groups dressed up for a night out stop a second in temporary appreciative silence to watch before continuing onto the local pubs.

The big screen on drugs

The Market Place has been billed as the main event tonight. The big screen has been given over to what I can only describe as a kind of Incredible Hulk hallucinatory figure. There are roaming spotlight projections against the market hall and the surrounding buildings.

Market place under the spotlight

Articles in the media this week have concentrated on the interactive light displays of Seeper whereby projected animations bring alive or accentuate the natural features of the targeted buildings. The building appropriately targeted here is Quad and a regular 5 minute sequence sees glowing blocks of light dance their way around the glass windows in time to a soundtrack. It’s clever stuff, if not quite as dramatic as some of the incredible displays orchestrated against other buildings to be found via the Seeper website.

The Quad comes alive

That’s as much as I have to share with you tonight. There’s a bit more – some confusing and missing video installations down the party street otherwise known as Sadlergate, but I have devised my own liquid trail starting at the Horse & Groom so that’s your lot for tonight.

Roll on a week to the final night of Derby Gleam and the closing parade. There is a thick blanket of fog and at one point I assume it must be called off. A twitter buddy assures me it is going ahead and I head out into the cold night. There’s a lantern parade to the market place that I have missed but the climax is due at Cathedral Green so I head straight there.

Before the advent of fire...

The gradually thinning fog rolls over the river derwent and as people start to assemble there is a real sense of expectation. Drumming marks the arrival of a modest entourage from the market place – how these people have endured the cold for so long I have no idea. A parade float heads the procession and shivering children swing home made lanterns.

Parade float

Attention turns to a lively display of fire twirling which takes everyone’s mind off the cold.

Playing with fire

It’s impressive fare at close hand with lit batons, burning hula-hoops and (intentional?) fire breathing.

River fire display team

The finale of the finale is marked by a bright fizzing stream of fireworks and firecrackers.

Derby Gleam 2010 finale

The last embers of the firework display blink out and an evocative smell of cordite settles on the fog as the appreciative audience disperses into the night. It’s tempting to join them in some welcoming hostelry but the show isn’t over. There is the 365 day light display for those who take the time to look on a night like this…

Cathedral Green foot bridge

Foggy outline of Cathedral from footbridge

Exeter Bridge over the Derwent

Derby Silk Mill or a scene from Dickins?

Gleam 365 at St Marys Church

So the festival is over for this year. Like any new idea it needs to evolve and to improve. Some of the events ran late, a few aspects of the light trail were a little hard to fathom or mysteriously absent but broadly there were plenty of plusses and the public embraced it. It is a work in progress, like Derby itself. There’s more and better to come.

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Everything is Illuminated

Derbyshire. Landlocked. In fact the best part of 100 miles from the nearest coastline. Despite this fact, or maybe because of it, my home county boasts it’s own unique waterfront attraction Matlock Bath.

Known locally as Matlock By The Sea this popular destination has much in common with the archetypal British seaside resort. Weekend crowds swell the population as young families mingle with leather clad legions of bikers, drawn into the town along the adrenaline soaked tarmac of the A6 that snakes it’s way along the beautiful Derwent Valley. For the sea there is the river Derwent. In place of a coastal vista there are towering limestone cliffs that dominate the skyline. The promenade is replaced by the under-cliff footpath, while the infamous “Pav”ilion plays stand in to a pier. Throw in the 10 or so chip shops crammed together along the 200 yard North Parade, sprinkle in a few tourist tat shops and garnish with amusement arcades and you have an inland seaside resort, of sorts.

The small town has a long and notable history. Sir Richard Arkwright built Masson Mill here at the inception of the industrial revolution. Wealthy Victorians travelled from far and wide to visit the “healing” spa waters. The echoes of Victoriana remain visible to this day in the local architecture but the last 40 years have seen a major shift towards popularist tourism with the addition of Gullivers Kingdom theme park and the installation of a cable car.

My visit has nothing to do with any of this. I’m here to see the famous Matlock Bath Illuminations, conceived in 1897 as a candlelit procession to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee and held every year since. My mission is to do the whole shooting match short of getting a tattoo.

The train from Derby to Matlock consists of one old carriage that has never been cleaned before. This local service takes 30 minutes and the stops ring off the tongue – Duffield, Belper, Ambergate, Whatstandwell, Cromford and then Matlock Bath. On arrival I want to get a view of the town before dusk and this means yomping up the hill. Any road here other than the arterial A6 is guaranteed to be steep (as in cut-off-in-winter steep) and this road is no exception.

The roads here are steep

The views make it all worth while. It looks relatively quiet down below and I’m guessing many people have decided not to risk the weather tonight. The Victorian rooftops overlook the town and with chimneys gently puffing out white smoke I can imagine an almost unchanged scene 100 years ago.

A view over Matlock Bath before the sun sets

The aroma of Fish and Chips is strong even at this distance, drifting on a light summer breeze that already carries the chill of autumn, just days away. Anyway, that’s enough dreamy flannel. I’ve got tourist things to do and what better start than a desperately required pint of Everards Tiger at The Fishpond, best known for it’s music line up and well kept ale (just don’t even dream of eating there).

Yours truly with a pint of Tiger outside The Fishpond

There is almost literally only one choice of food in this town as it must have one chippy for every three residents. The only choice is which place to go to. I’m not that hungry so opt for £3 mini fish, chips & peas. They’ve run out of peas so the nice girl behind the fryer serves up beans plus double amounts of fish & chips to compensate. Lordy…

OMG – I can barely move after that. A podged waddle down the street is scant response to this cholesterol overload but at least I get to dabble with the slots.

Oh I do like to be beside the Derwent

It’s turning dark now and the smells, sights and sounds are just beginning to awaken the senses in an anticipatory way. If you have kids this is the time when they will start get excited, to realise that they are staying out late and doing something a little special.

They serve chips too

Anyway, the show is about to get on the road, or river at least. You see the static illuminations are on show every night but tonight’s parade of illuminated river floats kicks off at 8pm so I need to find a decent spot to watch from.

Static illuminations

I pass a very small fair of sorts plus a band playing in the bandstand on the way to the river. You can watch from the far bank or if you are early enough from the footbridge, despite the tannoy announcer wearily asking people not to stand still here. The scene is set for the parade to begin.

The scene is set

The floats are all designed by members of the Matlock Bath Venetian Boat Builders Association who have gone to great lengths to design and construct their craft. They slowly circle a length of river giving everyone a chance to see.

Anamatronic butterfly

Each float is effectively a rowing boat with a superstructure decked out with lights and powered by car batteries. Some of the floats also play appropriate music.

Ghostbusters!

In the dark it’s all very effective. Most of the floats are powered by oar but a couple have small outboards.

Pagoda

Most of the designs incorporate some sort of movement, with turning wheels, flapping wings, or in the case of santa moving reindeer legs.

Santa is early

There is a prize – the Arkwright Cup, donated by Sir Richard Arkwright in 1903 – for the best float. Another tradition is the inclusion of one candle lit float as a nod to the origins of this parade.

Toot Toot!

It’s getting cold and I have given up trying to get any really decent shots of the floats as you need a long exposure and the damn things keep floating off down the river making for blurred images. Just time for a warming pint of Jennings Snecklifter at The County Station before my night train home. All in all it’s been a bit of fun.

Thinking of going?
The static riverside illuminations run this year from September 4th to October 30th and, if I’m honest, are modest to say the least. The illuminated boat parade only takes place on Saturdays and Sundays during this period and I would strongly recommend you come at the weekend. In addition there are firework displays on Saturdays 2nd, 16th and 30th October this year. Click here for all of the details.

I took the train which not only enables you to avoid the heavy traffic but entitles you to 20% discount on admission (£4 adults, children free). As a final tip, pick up your tickets from the booth behind the pavilion as soon as you arrive so you can walk straight past the queue that builds up in the lead-up to the boat procession at 8pm.

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The Machine Beautiful

It’s a grim rainy Saturday. There’s not much you can do with a day like this. Fortunately the events of Friday evening have left me in credit and so I’m sat in Quad with a coffee this afternoon recalling last nights entertainment, impervious to the days depressive qualities.

There’s so much to say about last nights epic CogMachine charity event at Derby’s Bar 1 that I’m loath to attempt a comprehensive review as I will fail to do everyone justice or adequately describe all of the performances. Instead here’s a brief selective interpretation of the light and sound that made it as far as my noggin.

A quick disclaimer – my photos are mostly crap because the low sunlight at the start of the gig ruined the light balance on-stage, while later on the consistent low light resulted in high noise levels in the pictures. I may also have confused the chronology of events. And the facts. So as long as you aren’t too bothered about words or pictures this blog’s for you. Don’t act surprised – you must have read my stuff before…

The early birds to Bar 1’s rather unique covered outdoor performance area were privileged to see The Three Tenors kick off proceedings with some atypical pop material. There is a level of suspicion about the true identity of this super yet somehow normal trio. Crucially it’s a sign that I need to drink a lot more beer for this evening to start making any sense.

The Super Normals?

Next on – Neon Sky for their first performance as a 5-piece since recruiting a new drummer and bassist. They sound as if they have been playing as a unit for years and they deliver some fine songs new and old worthy of a headline billing before too long. I have special admiration for Kev on bass who wears a truly massive iron cog around his neck for the entire set without missing a note but is presumably feeling a tad stiff today.

Neon Sky

The place is starting to fill up and newcomers are being gently persuaded to buy tickets for the Raffle Of Shame by the resplendently attired Ms Mischief. A myriad of embarrassing object de tat mostly donated by people on condition of anonymity obscures a trestle table – imagine a jumble sale in Room 101 and you are in the ballpark. People crowd around to pick out the items they most covet in the event of their number being called in the draw later on. There are also some extra-terrestrial looking cakes for sale.

Sweet temptations

I’m in and out of the bar area chatting, restocking my pint glass with Buddy (named after Bar 1’s infamous resident pooch) but manage to catch most of the evenings recitals from the spoken word line-up. There’s an intimate recital from talented local writer Aimee Wilkinson that captures you in the moment, a fun and punchy poem about men from charismatic Mo Pickering and then professional storyteller Simon Heywood grasped the audience in his hand with a tall tale from Ireland.

Somehow I have managed to miss the evenings top billed wordsmith Mark Gwynne-Jones. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Was I chatting too long at the bar?

The words have met with a full stop for the evening and musicians return to the stage. Oh dear – I’m really not giving the acts the attention they deserve but I can tell you that Richard (Biff) Birkin did some very chilled things with a guitar hooked up to a some electronic gubbins via foot pedals while “woodland folk musicians” The Face That Boils Itself delivered a set that matched their nomenclature defying name in it’s avoidance of any usefully recognised genre. I think I need to hear them again – especially if they bring along the much talked about wood saw to accompany the double bass. Do they do woodwork on stage? How does this work exactly?

The evening is nothing if not eclectic in terms of the spectrum of performances, but there’s a rich seam of artistic talent that shines through from first to last. I’m in fear of reaching a point in the evening when what I’m seeing and hearing starts to make sense, because then I’m in real trouble.

It’s not all mayhem or madcap – there is some welcome sanity in the form of enormously talented singer songwriter Jo Lewis. I’m captivated. Like all the best musicians she does the simple things so well. There’s an album in the pipeline and if it captures the essence of tonight’s performance it can only be a success.

Jo Lewis

The Super Normals are reprised for a few home grown comedy numbers that go down well with the increasingly populous audience. There’s an assault on Paul McCartney that is pure Half Man Half Biscuit and a rumbustious Cockney square-up. As my partner in grime tonight @Walkerama observes it’s crying out to be an Edinburgh Fringe act. I don’t know though, they just need a little more confidence on stage…

And now – the much awaited Raffle Of Shame. I can’t under-state how much effort and love a number of people have poured into organising this event but even so I hope nobody would begrudge me for singling out Ms Mischief who has worked tirelessly for five months to bring everything together so successfully. The Raffle Of Shame is a case in point. In fact it is the point really since this will bring in the majority of funds collected tonight for MacMillan Cancer Relief.

There is a flurry of number calling, people scrum around the table to get first grabs on the many precious things. Some lucky punter walks away with part of a costume worn by The Fonz when he did panto a while back.

It’s mixed news for Neon Sky. Guitarist Matt is (a little too) overjoyed to claim a Billy Ocean single (when the going gets tough) on vinyl. He is undeterred by the fact he doesn’t own a turntable. Before anybody asks, the B-Side has an instrumental version of the A-Side. This sort of ephemera is sadly lost on the post-vinyl generation. Meanwhile vocalist Jo misses out on the Spirograph she had repeatedly begged for during their earlier set. Them’s the rules missy – tis but a game of chance.

It’s my turn to visit the tresle table. There’s only one choice. The fools before me missed it but I know it’s there. One strives for literary fulfillment. In England the tourists flock to “Shakespeares County” and I can only presume the borderline to California is way-marked with “Pammy’s State” signs.

Almost everyone has a novel in them...

It’s a novel by Pamela Anderson. Keep reading the previous sentence – it won’t make any more sense. Of course, when I say “Pamela Anderson” I mean her ghost-writer, presumable so-titled because something terrible happened to him and his soul is now forever trapped in between this writing assignment and the next.

An example of the attention to detail that has gone into the event: Each raffle item is accompanied by a brilliant Certificate Of Provenance that documents the physical dimensions of shame (241 x 160 x 30mm) the Gauge of Shame (15 out of 10) and a description (“A novel, no Really a novel by Pamela Anderson”). Not only has this documentation been painstakingly crafted by Ms Mischief but it has then been personally verified by independent arbitrator Aimee Wilkinson.

As it happens I have a pocket full of raffle tickets and few more of my numbers get drawn but why would I return to the table? It can’t get any better after all.

The evening is about to reach its climax. Thomas Truax has been part of the crowd so far this evening. Heaven only knows what he has thought of some of the sights & sounds so far although in truth any man that makes his own band members out of bike wheels and TV-aerials probably isn’t going to be phased by anything. I did have a brief chat to him earlier and he said he was enjoying the evening. He also said he recognised me from my Sidewalk Café blog (I promoted tonights gig in a former Truax venue in Manhattan a couple of weeks back) and he was tactful enough not to ask why I did it. Or maybe it all seemed reasonable. Who knows…

The stage is set and Thomas opens with one of his classic tracks “Prove it to my daughter” courtesy of his Hornicator.

The Hornicator

It’s clear that some people in the audience know what to expect and are loving it while others are just trying to take it all in.

Other home made instruments featuring tonight include the Cadillac Beatspinner, Scary Aerial, the BackBeater and the Stringaling.

I’m not even going to try and describe these other than to say he manages to coax viable music out of them. Sometimes it’s funny (eg: Inside The Internet, Why Dogs Howl) other times it’s soulful (I put a spell on you). He is a performer in the truest sense and thinks nothing of running through the crowd with his guitar unplugged to perform Full Moon Over Wowtown. Once you are over the sensory overload you realise his act is not just steampunk gimmickry but he writes and performs exquisitely.

He must be on stage for a good hour and he winds up with a great new-ish track Bee Hive Heart which takes surreal to a whole new level.

Once again it’s genius and the appreciative crowd applaud accordingly. Afterwards he is generous with his time chatting to anybody who wants to talk. In a final act of selflessness he contributes the profits from his album sales tonight to the charity pot – this from a headline act that has performed for free on the night.

Some time later as he heads out the door there is a general consensus that he needs to be rebooked as a matter of urgency. People will gladly pay to see him and it would be great to have him back.

The evening isn’t quite over for me. I’m introduced to the still remorseful previous owner of Pammy’s novel. Such is its shamefulness that she feels it necessary to explain herself. She didn’t buy the book – it was given to her. Now she has passed it on and naturally she doesn’t want anybody to know about her sordid secret. I open the cover and sure enough there are scribblings inside to prove it was indeed an uninvited gift. Don’t worry – your secret is safe with me Alessandra.

One final twist awaits me as I head towards the exit at 2am. A gentleman by the bar is wearing with some pride a badge he acquired in the raffle.

It’s one I contributed and I explain that I picked it up two weeks ago from a flea-market in Hells Kitchen, New York. You see, my conscience really is clear because I bought it intentionally for the raffle. Oh dear – it seems now I’m also trying to justify my actions. Time for a swift exit.

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