Published: 05/02/2008 00:00 -
Updated: 01/02/2010 11:06
ON Shrove Tuesday 1953 Lord John Manners turned up the ball and addressed the crowd on a snow laden Shaw Croft with the words: "I wish you a good and fierce game!" I think those words have echoed over the years and were so apt today as it was exactly a good and fierce game!
I think the excitement for me as one of the ball painters clocking up 18 years experience in the 'craft' starts way back in October when a brown leather ball is given to me. This blank canvas eventually becomes the image of the ball we are all used to with hours of painstaking brush work. So for me the excitement stars way earlier than this morning!
My excitement was however tempered when on arriving at The Green Man for the usual sing song, speeches and roast beef, upon seeing a large banner advertising the Leatherbritches Shrovetide Brew daringly festooned by the door with the images of myself and Simon Hellaby the other ball painter, and above my head....up'ards.....UP'ARDS!!!!!!!!
I'm no up'ard - a seasoned down'ard through and through - and there I was labelled as something I'm not! This false headline was also confined to the pumps of the ale in the bar....I did laugh to myself thinking I wonder how many of the butch Shrovetiders of the town would go and order a pint pulled from my image, I guess it's like asking a rugby team to dine with Larry Grayson!
Today's game was fierce, well played and I think the play ventured on territory unheard of in many a year, such as land at the top of Old Derby Hill and the brook at the bottom of the Clifton Road Estate.
As a down'ard I was waiting with bated breath that the ball was heading to Clifton, it seemed scarily inevitable as the ball, now devoid of its design heaved its way along Clifton Road....and then....GONE!!!
Prize denial is very bitter, and we were left wondering where and when the leather had gone. Fortunately my cohort Denise had a carefully placed set of wheels,and made the decision that we should make the journey to Sturston.
Walking down the lane with heavy heart, I was praying that this was all a mistake and the ball was really heading for Clifton, but NO! the up'ards tapped the post at 19.32 lookin at the clock on my mobile phone!
Walking back I think my heart was sloshing around somewhere with the mud on my boots, but I recalled what an ardant Shrovetider of the past used to say..."thats Shrovetide" thanks for that Marion Abbott, it seemed to take the sting out of losing I guess!.
Still, we have it all to do tomorrow, i'm heading for a bath now, to nurse a bruised ego, labelled publically for the wrong team and write my grace that I'm saying at tomorrow's lunch!!
I think the excitement for me as one of the ball painters clocking up 18 years experience in the 'craft' starts way back in October when a brown leather ball is given to me. This blank canvas eventually becomes the image of the ball we are all used to with hours of painstaking brush work. So for me the excitement stars way earlier than this morning!
My excitement was however tempered when on arriving at The Green Man for the usual sing song, speeches and roast beef, upon seeing a large banner advertising the Leatherbritches Shrovetide Brew daringly festooned by the door with the images of myself and Simon Hellaby the other ball painter, and above my head....up'ards.....UP'ARDS!!!!!!!!
I'm no up'ard - a seasoned down'ard through and through - and there I was labelled as something I'm not! This false headline was also confined to the pumps of the ale in the bar....I did laugh to myself thinking I wonder how many of the butch Shrovetiders of the town would go and order a pint pulled from my image, I guess it's like asking a rugby team to dine with Larry Grayson!
Today's game was fierce, well played and I think the play ventured on territory unheard of in many a year, such as land at the top of Old Derby Hill and the brook at the bottom of the Clifton Road Estate.
As a down'ard I was waiting with bated breath that the ball was heading to Clifton, it seemed scarily inevitable as the ball, now devoid of its design heaved its way along Clifton Road....and then....GONE!!!
Prize denial is very bitter, and we were left wondering where and when the leather had gone. Fortunately my cohort Denise had a carefully placed set of wheels,and made the decision that we should make the journey to Sturston.
Walking down the lane with heavy heart, I was praying that this was all a mistake and the ball was really heading for Clifton, but NO! the up'ards tapped the post at 19.32 lookin at the clock on my mobile phone!
Walking back I think my heart was sloshing around somewhere with the mud on my boots, but I recalled what an ardant Shrovetider of the past used to say..."thats Shrovetide" thanks for that Marion Abbott, it seemed to take the sting out of losing I guess!.
Still, we have it all to do tomorrow, i'm heading for a bath now, to nurse a bruised ego, labelled publically for the wrong team and write my grace that I'm saying at tomorrow's lunch!!
