Shrovetide Football: It's all about the Ball

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February is the month associated with Ashbourne Royal Shrovetide Football. Peter Seddon looks beyond the hurly-burly of the game to consider the revered object on which the annual festival truly centres – the ball itself.

WOE betides anyone daft enough to tell a lover of Ashbourne Shrovetide Football that the ball itself is “nowt but leather and cork shavings”. It would be like describing a Stradivarius violin as “nothing but wood and cat gut”, or dismissing the greatest Shakespeare play as “mere paper and ink”.

Consider the evidence. For years they have been lovingly made by time-served craftsmen. They are meticulously painted by talented artists who receive no financial reward.

Then, the beautifully decorated orbs are mauled and mud-spattered in the grasping hands of frenzied Ashburnians who will later fawn over and cradle the battle-worn object of desire as gently and as proudly as they would a new-born baby.

They are celebrated in song and verse, and honoured at an annual dinner which would do justice to the piping-in of the grandest haggis on any Burns Night.

To be invited to “turn up” (throw) one to commence the annual Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday games is a singular privilege bestowed only on a fortunate few, but then on both commoners and future kings alike.

And once they have been used and abused, these majestic giant baubles are hung aloft in public houses and domestic homes to be drooled over like the most succulent hams.

Coveted by those who haven’t got one, and lovingly cherished by those special chosen ones who have, the ownership of these time-honoured trophies of ancient ritual is beyond what money can buy.

There is no question about it – the Shrovetide ball is a celebrity in its own right. The real question is why it has become so.

Social historians believe the answer lies in ancient rituals through which the earliest balls, long before the Ashbourne game commenced, were imbued with mystical qualities.

The theory goes that balls were originally linked to fertility, religious rites, and the rhythm of the agricultural year.

A ball is shaped like both the sun and the moon, which rule the seasons and “give life”. Usually it is made from the hide of a powerful beast. The academics suggest that ancient man sought to pursue the ball, “tame” it, and ultimately possess it as a symbolic means of controlling his destiny and harnessing the strength and fertility of the beast itself.

Such a seductive theory is supported by folklore and custom. Pagans in Celtic Britain and Europe are known to have used balls in fertility ceremonies from around 500BC.

Even into the 19th century it was customary in many villages, including some in Derbyshire, for newly-wed couples to receive a football at the church gate as a means of blessing them with good fortune and children in the future.

It’s also worth remembering that Shrovetide, the date for football festivals of the Ashbourne kind, coincided with the vernal equinox of the pre-Christian era, an important time for pagan rituals intended to enhance productivity and fertility in the summer months ahead.

So there it is – the age-old survival that is Ashbourne Shrovetide Football embraces a long-held mystical significance in which the ball is the shining star to be feted, pursued and finally captured.

So, naturally, an Ashbourne ball needs treating with reverence. First it is made by a local craftsman. For many years, up to the 1950s, this was done initially by Trevor Yeomans and then Percy Chadwick, who were always quick to tell curious enquirers that an Ashbourne ball is nothing like a conventional football.

It is bigger, and the leather panels must be sewn together with particular care to withstand the rigours of play. Nor does it have a bladder – instead it is stuffed tight with cork shavings traditionally sourced from Portugal.

That keeps the ball relatively light and helps it to float in the River Henmore on the frequent occasions it ends up there.

The ball-makers’ art has been passed from generation to generation. Arthur Chadwick succeeded his father Percy and was still crafting balls until 2001, when John Harrison assumed the task. So, in the past 100 years, only four different men have regularly made the principal Ashbourne balls.

A similar tradition applies to ball decoration, something which goes back to the late 19th century at least. For 70 years the main ball each year was painted by John Barker, who was then succeeded for a further 22 years (1949-70) by his grandson Jack Roberts.

The maker, Arthur Chadwick, turned painter for a number of years before his daughter, Sandra, took a turn, then Stuart Avery and latterly Tim Baker were appointed decorators of the main “Tuesday ball”, the most significant among the various replacements and spares made each year.

Mr Baker explains the rudiments: “I start in December when I receive the balls. First task is to kill the grease in the leather with a coat of spirit.

“Then I add one coat of primer, two of white undercoat and another of white enamel. Only then is the coloured design applied in ultra hard-wearing sign-writers’ enamel.

“The picture usually includes the Union Flag and crown but the main thing is to paint a scene relevant to the person who “turns up” the ball. That’s where interpretation comes in.”

Only by examining an Ashbourne ball at close quarters is it possible to fully appreciate that they are true works of art. Yet ephemeral ones at that, for the design never survives the game entirely unscathed. Traditionally, anyone who successfully goals a ball will ask for the painter to re-apply the design all over again, but generally with the addition of their name or some sort of personal motif.

So ball-painting isn’t a one-off task – in fact Mr Baker still receives requests to re-paint bygone balls from many years ago. One he worked on has particular resonance in Derbyshire football circles, for it was the 1920 Wednesday ball “turned up” by the Derby County legend Steve Bloomer.

That historic artefact, splendidly repainted for Tony Roberts, son of the late ball-painter Jack, now resides in Ashbourne – and one suspects that not even the most persuasive collector of Derby County memorabilia could prise it away from the proud market town.

Although the Ashbourne game differs totally from Association Football, links with Derby County have always been strong, and several Rams’ personalities besides Steve Bloomer have “turned up” a ball – former players or managers to have performed the ritual include William Storer (1902), Harry Newbould (1924), Brian Clough (1975) and Roy McFarland (1982).

In 1967 the ball was thrown up by the Derby County chairman Sam Longson, but it is another Rams’ chairman who steals the honours.

Peter Gadsby, whose family have a long association with the Ashbourne game, “turned up” the ball in 1996, having previously “goaled” a ball in 1965 when he was only 16.

Many other Derbeians, often publicans or prominent businessmen with strong sporting links, have also “turned up” a ball. These include restaurateur Sam Ramsden (1964) and landlord John Farmer (1926 and 1927), licensee of the Travellers’ Rest on Ashbourne Road and a leading light in Derby Athletics Club.

Another Derby publican, Jack Lilley of the Nags Head Vaults, did the honours in 1929, and was so carried away by his celebrity status that he issued postcards to hand out to admirers!

Who can blame him, for only a year previously the same duty was carried out by the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VIII. In 2003 Prince Charles perpetuated the noble link.

When future monarchs agree to participate in a football match, it’s a sure indicator that this is no ordinary game.

Strangers may look on aghast, confused and even distressed, but true devotees will know instinctively why Ashbourne reverts year upon year to a state of primeval ritual – it’s all about a ball.

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This article is from the Derby Evening Telegraph and is reproduced online here.