Cornish Hurling or Things NOT to do on Vacation

As Shrove Tuesday fast approaches a weary traveler cannot be blamed for seeking alternatives to the insanity that is Mardi Gras. Although fun can be had gathering beads and overindulging in all the rich foods available throughout New Orleans the night before the ritual fasting of Lent kicked off on Ash Wednesday, there are other events that could catch the eye of an adventurous vacationer. Just one of these would be the Hurling at St Columb which always attracts a fervent crowd. Held twice each year, the first hurling is on Fat Tuesday with the second following soon after.

Hurling is an ancient game played on in Cornwall, United Kingdom that began in Celtic times and has continued virtually unchanged for decades. The silver ball is roughly the size of a cricket ball, weighs about a pound, and is hammered out of sterling silver in two hemispheres before being bound around an applewood core and held together with a band of silver. The band is nailed or screwed into the two hemispheres to hold it together and is often engraved with something to inspire the players. The player who wins the game for his or her team is entitled to keep the ball, but does have to pay for a replacement so must just return it for the next hurling.

I was privileged to spend three years in the Cornish countryside in the late 90s and was invited to a hurling by one of the locals. Having no idea what I was getting myself into, and since this was before the internet really hit its stride so there was no Google savior around, I eagerly accepted. At first I felt truly honored to have been invited and showed up at the appointed time ready to experience a slice of English history. Since we wanted “good seats” from which to view the action, we lined up early in front of a garden wall and my enthusiasm waned just a bit when I realized the town was a bit deserted. My hosts imparted all the lore surrounding the hurling to me, including the story of how the ball is made, and ended with a warning to keep my attention on the players as the game itself was often used to ‘settle scores’ and could be a little rough. At this point I looked around and realized store fronts were boarded up or shuttered and many wiser souls seemed to be hurrying out of the street we were on. I didn’t have too much time to consider this as the time of the hurling was upon us!

The hurling kicks off mid-afternoon, but until that time everything is very quiet as an ominous feeling in the air builds around an ever expanding and restless crowd. The game begins and immediately looks a lot like a massive rugby scrum ensuing when you hear the cry of “town and country do your best, but in this parish I must rest." All of the energy that built up in the crowd over the last few hours of milling about explodes in the center of the square and the silver ball is passed around from person to person as the ‘townies’ attempt to transport the magical ball to their goal and gain bragging rights over the country folk they’re up against. Ball control is the key to the game and is accomplished through sharp passes, outright stealing, some gouging, and more than a bit of tackling. All of this finally permits one team or the other to advance the ball toward the goal.

At first, the teams share the ball amongst players in the center of the town as touching the ball is considered good luck, the younger players are allowed to participate without worry of injury, and spectators are allowed to touch the ball as well. Once this initial ‘good sport’ phase ends, the tenor of the game becomes much more serious. Unfortunately, I did not realize there were two phases to the game; the good and the ugly. Since the game ends when one team or another scores, the length of time a hurling might last varies from mere minutes to hours. I had relaxed during the initial game play and was truly enjoying an early evening with good friends and lots of fun. This didn’t last when the game play shifted as the scrum moved towards us with fury and all of my compatriots somehow disappeared! Remember the garden wall we were leaning against? I looked up and realized they had somehow managed to scale this 5 foot obstacle without me even noticing their escape! I quickly joined them on the top of the wall – it’s amazing how high one can leap when inspired – and watched as the teams devolved into an angry mob roiling beneath us.

Fortunately, the energy level required by the actual town versus country phase of play cannot be sustained for long and soon the ball starts moving with some purpose toward a goal. These goals are approximately 3 km apart so it takes a bit of an athlete to make it the entire distance and many in the scrum drop off long before the goal is in sight. Eventually, a hardy soul will cross the parish line marking the goal and the winner is declared later that evening back in the center of town as either ‘Town Ball’ or ‘Country Ball.’ One might believe the hurling ends when the participants become tired enough to require a pint or two at one of the local pubs, which was enough for this tourist to hope for! Thus begins another long held tradition of ‘Drinking the Silver Ball.’

Once the winner is declared and all wounds are tended to, the silver ball is dipped in gallons of beer that are shared amongst those in attendance. Many sip from this ‘silver beer’ in the hopes that it will bring them luck for hurling re-match on the first Saturday in March. As I mentioned earlier, the hurling is often used to settle scores and those who were enemies at the beginning of the match can often be found drinking together as friends once again once the silver beer has been passed around.

Although there are two other games of hurling that can be found in Cornwall, one in St Ives and one in Bodmin, neither are as rough and tumble as that held in St Columb. I was certainly impressed to have been invited to experience this from the front row, but wouldn’t recommend it for the faint of heart. At least remember to climb the garden wall before attending this year’s events on 21 February or 3 March!