The air crackles with anticipation, a raw energy that only centuries of tradition can forge. Ashbourne, Derbyshire, is bracing itself for the Royal Shrovetide Football Match, a contest of endurance, grit, and unwavering local pride. This isn't a game for the faint of heart; it's a two-day battle where injuries are commonplace and the spirit of competition burns fiercely.
This year, the honor of initiating the chaos fell to Sir Andrew Walker-Okeover, representing the “Up’ards.” He set the ball in motion on Shrove Tuesday, passing the torch to Pete Mellor, a lifelong “Down’ard” and plumbing engineer, who will restart the fray on Ash Wednesday. These aren’t just ceremonial roles; they’re symbolic of a deep-rooted division that defines the town.
The objective is deceptively simple: score the ball at the opposing team’s goal, located three miles apart. The Up’ards strive for the Sturston goal to the east, while the Down’ards relentlessly pursue the Clifton goal to the west. But simplicity belies the brutal reality of the game, a swirling mass of bodies and relentless forward momentum.
Play unfolds across the fields and streets, a chaotic spectacle fueled by generations of rivalry. The game continues until 6 pm each day, transitioning to a next-goal-wins scenario. If a goal remains elusive between 6 pm and 10 pm, the day’s play concludes, and the aggregate score over both days determines the ultimate victor. The Down’ards currently hold the title, having secured a narrow 1-0 victory last year.
The origins of this extraordinary tradition stretch back to at least the 1660s, though its roots are even deeper, tracing back to Shrovetide ball games played in England since the reign of Henry II (1154-1189). Exact details of the Ashbourne match’s earliest days are lost to history, a consequence of a devastating fire in the committee office during the 1890s that consumed vital records.
Despite the loss of early documentation, the game’s legacy has been fiercely preserved. Remarkably, it has only been cancelled three times since 1891 – in 1968 and 2001 due to foot-and-mouth disease outbreaks, and again in 2021 due to the global pandemic. Each cancellation felt like a blow to the town’s very identity.
The game begins with a dramatic “turning up” of the ball from a plinth in the town center. From there, it’s propelled towards the goals through a series of intense “hugs” – formations resembling rugby scrums. Kicking, carrying, and throwing are permitted, but the heart of the game lies within these powerful, contested embraces.
The match earned its “Royal” designation after two future kings participated in the ceremonial kickoff. King Edward VIII, while still Prince of Wales, turned up the ball in 1928, an event that left him with a bloody nose. More recently, in 2003, King Charles III himself threw the ball into play, continuing a tradition steeped in history and prestige.
As the town prepares, shops are boarded up, anticipating the surge of players and spectators. It’s a testament to the game’s enduring power, a spectacle that transcends sport and embodies the spirit of a community bound by a shared, unforgettable tradition.
