Becoming Home: Football and Geographic Identity in Early Modern Britain

This piece is cross-posted on the many-headedmonster, a collaborative blog focusing on English society and culture in the early modern period.

Every Sunday in the early months of 1765, Welsh and Irish sides numbering in the hundreds played football in the White-Conduit Fields of Islington (better known for early games of cricket). One such ‘grand camping match’ caught the attention of the London newspapers. When a Welshman called one Irishman a slur, the game dissolved into a bloody brawl. Both sides armed themselves with ‘sticks and other weapons…forced from the spectators’, and waged a desperate pitched battle. Eventually, ‘the ancient Britons were obliged to retire, and leave the Hibernian heroes masters of the field’.[1]

The reports portray premodern football as a violent and chaotic game, but there are familiar elements too: a popular spectator sport played regularly in defined spaces by ethno-national teams. While these games between immigrants were a far cry from the first international matches between England and Scotland in the 1870s (both rugby and association rules), they underscore the sport’s longstanding and special relationship with geographic identity. Well before World Cups, FIFA, national teams, or modern associations and clubs, football epitomized place and home throughout early modern Britain.

Soccer referee showing a yellow card to players from two opposing teams (England and Argentina) during the World Cup 2026 semi-final match
Fierce football rivalries are nothing new.

All sports can be engines and emblems of identity; through organised play, people forge a sense of self and community, and put it on display. Football is not unique to this process, yet its modern codes (especially association) have become privileged vehicles of local, regional and national identity in their respective sporting cultures. But this is nothing new. Modern football forms trace their shared heritage to medieval and early modern folk games, especially those of the ‘Home Nations’. And more so than other sports of that time, premodern football manifested locality through its representative teams, its interaction with place and countryside, and its defence of customary land rights.

Home Teams

Eighteenth-century London had a vibrant football culture, catering to an ever-expanding migrant population. As with the Welsh and Irish in Islington, people far from home could find community and flaunt pride of place through this team sport. Regional sides, however, were more common than national ones, with many matches pitting county against county. One advertisement in the London Journal of October 1721 challenged six men of any county to play ‘six Derbyshire men’ for a prize of half a dozen gloves. Players were to meet at ‘The Mitre and Two Brewers in Highgate’, and play in ‘a very Fine field provided for the purpose’.[2]

Gentlemen played in similar challenges for much larger stakes (see image below), or they might arrange the event. A Norfolk gentleman set up a challenge in 1735 for ‘the first two goals in three at Foot-ball’ between twelve of his countrymen, and twelve of any other county. Eligibility reflected the transitory nature of migrant identity (and probably clamped down on hired guns): players needed to be from said county, but also to have ‘lived in London or the Bills of Mortality [i.e. the suburbs] twelve months at least’.[3] For those settled in the metropolis, there were more parochial loyalties to develop and defend. On a Thursday in January 1729, for example, there was ‘a great Foot-Ball Match’ between the suburb of Shoreditch and the neighbouring London ward of Coleman Street. The London press (no doubt impartial) deemed the suburbanites a ‘cowardly’ bunch, beat ‘so shamefully…tis thought they will never attempt to challenge [Coleman Street] again’.[4]

Advertisement from the London newspaper 'Daily Journal' Saturday 13 September 1729, for a football match to be played in Islington between Derbyshire and Gloucestershire gentlemen, 12 a side.
Genteel football at the Derbyshire Wake on Islington Road. Daily Journal, Saturday 13 September 1729 (London). Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Burney Newspapers Collection, Gale.com.

Representative teams from the eighteenth-century capital mirrored those in the provinces, Wales and Scotland. ‘Parish versus parish’ was perhaps the most common arrangement, especially for the big festival fixtures, analogous to derbies or marquee match-ups today. During the early eighteenth century in Anglesey, Llanbadrick and Llanfechell played annually on the Llanbadrick Wakes Day in March, while twelve men from each parish arranged a special match on Whitsun Monday 1749. Llanbadrick men were keen footballers: on Easter Tuesday 1734, a squad of twelve squared off against a dozen from Llanfairynghornwy and Llanrhwydrys. Around 500 spectators, including the great and good of the region, enjoyed a real cracker of a match. ‘Both sides with equall courage, skill & resolution’ won an ‘end’ or goal before calling it a draw and going drinking together.[5]

Parochial teams were not reserved for the high feast days. Parishioners of Rayne and Culsalmond (Aberdeenshire) were punished for ‘a public footballing’ on the Lord’s Day in 1648. Nine from Coggeshall played nine from Great Tey at a camping match in Essex on Sunday 1 June 1600.[6] The format was found across the regional variations of football, camping being the East Anglian one. Hurling was the Cornish variant, described in Francis Willughby’s ‘Book of Games’ as ‘the same with Football but that it is throwne with the hand.’ It was played ‘one parish against another, or Easterne men against the Westerne, or Cornwall against Devonshire’.[7] Today annual matches still occur in St Ives and St Columb Major, with town facing country in the latter every Shrove Tuesday. Town versus country was another classic geographic division, found for example in seventeenth-century Carlisle and nineteenth-century Sedgefield (Durham).[8]

Other forms of identity could structure play within a single community: trade versus trade in early Tudor Chester; married versus single in lowland Scottish towns like Scone, Duns or Musselburgh (East Lothian), where we find rare evidence of women playing premodern football in 1795. For the hurling in nineteenth-century St Ives, all men named Tom, John or Will formed one team against everyone else. Yet the primacy of geography and a sense of place remains visible in the dozen or so surviving British folk ball games of today. Whether Uppies and Downies, Up-Streeters and Down-Streeters, or Easties and Westies, home or birthplace within the town determines allegiance.[9]

Defending Territory and Rights

Geography was also central to the gameplay of premodern football, which came in two main formats. The first and more familiar was played in defined spaces, like a ‘longe streete, or a close [enclosed field] that has a gate at either end’ to serve as goals, as Willughby put it.[10] This format lent itself to small and even sides (usually). Pastures, fallow fields and enclosures of willing (or unwilling) landowners were often used. Commons like the White-Conduit Fields or the Old Links of St Andrews provided shared space for football and other recreations. Whether streets or fields, football transformed these multi-purpose spaces into play places. The change was transient, but football left more indelible marks on the landscape and its place names too: dedicated Ball Greens, Football Fields, and Camping Closes dot the island, the deeply-embedded memories of a long-beloved game.[11]

The second format of football was boundless, played through towns and countrysides by unconstrained and uneven sides advancing the ball to landmark goals. Llanbadrick strove for the boundaries of Llanfechell village, while Llanfechell aimed for a cliffside some three miles distant, gaining victory in 1743 when they ‘drove the foot ball over the precipice beyond Porth Badrick’ (see image).[12] Goals could be church porches and mills (Duns), a river or hole in the moor (Scone), bridges (Kingston-upon-Thames), villages and gentlemen’s houses (Cornwall), among other human and natural markers. Players in early Tudor Chester carried the ball from the common field to the city’s Common Hall.[13] It was really this phenomenon which set football apart: other sports also transformed the land (bowling greens, tennis courts), or fielded representative teams. But by the game’s nature one single football could entertain an entire community and mobilize it to defend the boundaries. The very fabric and soil of one’s home became a part of the game as the ball traversed the miles between localities; navigated thicket, stream and street; struck landmark goals; and crossed borders. Football might even alter those borders. According to folklore, the outcome of the annual Coldstream and Wark match on the Scottish Borders determined whether the no-man’s land ba’ green belonged to England or Scotland.[14]

Picture of Porth Padrig, Anglesey
Porth Padrig, Anglesey, where in 1743 Llanfechell bested rival Llanbadrick by driving the football ‘over the precipice beyond Porth Badrick’. Photo © Chris Andrews | BY-SA

Football could also defend territory and access to land rights in a broader sense. The game’s warlike nature and propensity to summon large crowds made it an ideal vehicle and cover for riots. As common fields were enclosed or marshes drained in the name of progress, people used football to assert rights to the land and its essential and shared resources. This was especially true when the fens were drained during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In 1638 ‘a foot ball play or camp’ in Whelpmore Fen of Cambridgeshire mustered hundreds from surrounding towns, who proceeded to play across country and level enclosure ditches in the process.[15]

One of the rights and resources that commons provided was recreation itself. When the burgh council of St Andrews allowed the Archbishop a rabbit warren in the Old Links in 1551, the contract reserved to the townsfolk their rights of ‘playing at golf, football, shooting at game, with all manner of other pastimes’. Again, football players were uniquely well equipped to violently and ritually claim such rights to recreation, should they be threatened. In February 1483, parishioners of Bethersden (Kent) riotously staged a football match against the prior of St Gregory’s enclosure attempts, defending their rights ‘to pleie’ upon ‘the comen grounde and comen pleying place for all men of this parisshe’.[16]

Around four centuries later, in 1860, villagers of Steeple Bumpstead (Essex) responded to the gradual enclosure of their Camping Close in a strikingly similar way. After three young tradesmen scattered the encroacher’s manure over the grounds, twenty other villagers joined them to play football in the close, thereby treading the manure into the land and symbolically invoking their recreational rights to it. Just three years later, the Football Association would form in London, where it standardized, rather than invented, a code of football. It adapted a traditional sport which had long created, performed and defended premodern people’s sense of place and identity. This fashioning of home through play remains an intangible heritage, passed down and paralleled in our own national and club loyalties of today.


[1] Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser, Tuesday 26 March 1765 (London); Lloyd’s Evening Post, 22-25 March, p. 287, Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Burney Newspapers Collection, Gale.com. The newspapers cited here are all from this collection.

[2] London Journal, Saturday 14 October 1721, p. 5.

[3] London Daily Post and General Advertiser,Monday 20 October 1735 (London).

[4] Daily Post Boy, Saturday 1 February 1729.

[5] The William Bulkeley Diaries (Bangor University).See regular recaps on the Wakes football match in the March entries. For the even-sided matches see entries 1734 April 16 and 1749  May 15.

[6] John Davidson, Inverurie and the Earldom of the Garioch (Edinburgh, 1878), p. 302; Essex Archives, D/ACA/25, fol. 107, Archdeaconry of Colchester Act Book, Sep 1598-Jun 1602.

[7] Francis Willughby’s book of games: a seventeenth century treatise on sports, games, and pastimes, (eds) David Cram, Jeffrey L. Forgeng and Dorothy Johnston (2003), p. 169.

[8] I discuss the Carlisle game extensively in chapter 2 of my thesis.

[9] On these folk survivals see Hugh Hornby, Uppies and Downies: The Extraordinary Football Games of Britain, (Swindon: English Heritage, 2008).

[10] Willughby, p. 168.

[11] The classic study of camping closes is David Dymond, ‘A Lost Social Institution: The Camping Close’, Rural History 1, 2 (1990), 165-192. 

[12] The William Bulkeley Diaries (Bangor University).Entry 1743 March 21.

[13] For the wide variety of goals see Hornby and Francis Magoun, History of Football from the Beginnings to 1871 (1938). I discuss the Chester game extensively in chapter 2 of my thesis.

[14] Coldstream and Scotland eventually won permanent rights, allegedly because their village (and therefore football team) grew so much larger than Wark’s. See I. Crofton, A Dictionary of Scottish Phrase and Fable (Edinburgh: Birlinn Limited, 2013), 25.

[15] On fenland football riots see Keith Lindley, Fenland Riots and the English Revolution, (London, 1982), pp. 101-105, 232.

[16] The National Archives (Kew), KB9/365, m.22.

The Oldest Firm: Institutional Football in Medieval Scotland

It’s a historic time for Scottish football: the men’s national team has qualified for the World Cup, ending a near three-decade drought. And there’s a distinct possibility a club outside the ‘Old Firm‘ could win the top Scottish League for the first time since 1985. The erstwhile dominance of Celtic and Rangers has me wondering: what is the oldest ‘firm’ in the history of Scottish football? I don’t mean this in the modern sense of oldest surviving or earliest documented football club. Rather, what is the oldest evidence we have of Scottish organizations or institutions supporting football in a sustained way, and how did they do so?1

The answer takes us back to medieval or pre-Reformation Scotland, and specifically the 1530s, when Perth’s trade incorporations (i.e. guilds), and St Andrews’ city government and university were all sponsoring football in some sense. I’ve written at length about the Perth guilds in my thesis, so this essay will focus on institutional patronage in St Andrews. It’s a good opportunity to consider how premodern football was organized and played, and its complicated relationship with authority.

Annotated map 'Scotia Regnum' c. 1595 by Gerhard Mercator, highlighting Perth and St Andrews as the first known locations of institutional football in Scotland, c. 1530s.
Annotation of map ‘Scotia Regnum’ c. 1595 by Gerhard Mercator, highlighting Perth and St Andrews as the first known locations of institutional football in Scotland. Map reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland. CC-BY

Football in Medieval Scotland and St Andrews

Football – as a broad family of games where a ball is contested via foot and/or hands and usually advanced to goals – has deep roots in Scotland. Unfortunately, the country’s relatively sparse medieval records make it difficult to assess just how deep, or to illuminate the early game’s nature. Our oldest Scottish references date to the fifteenth century, when official prohibitions suggest that football was already popular among the rural populace and university students. As the slide below shows, the crown, Parliament and other authorities didn’t much approve of the sport.

Powerpoint slide detailing various parliamentary acts and university statutes from Scotland concerning the prohibition of football and other sports from the 1400s and early 1500s.

Around the turn of the sixteenth century, St Andrews University and its constituent faculties and colleges deemed the game ‘dishonest and dangerous’, threatening to expel or excommunicate students who played. But considering this hostility, it’s perplexing to find the bursar of the university’s Arts Faculty purchasing footballs: for 6 pence and 8 pence Scots in 1535 and 1537 respectively (roughly equal to a building labourer’s day wage at the time). An entry in the Faculty’s act book dated to 19 February 1537 sheds further light on the curious sponsorship (translated from the original Latin on the slide below). It records the minutes of a faculty congregation which discussed, among other things, disorder caused by football play the week prior on Shrove Tuesday, the pre-Lent Carnival (known as Fastern’s E’en in Lowland Scotland). By digging into the dense and sometimes confusing details of this act, the bursar’s payments, and some other comparative and contextual evidence, we can piece together the story of Scotland’s oldest firm.2

Powerpoint slide on the institutional patronage of football in St Andrews, featuring a quote in translation from the University's Faculty of Arts acts dated to February 1537. It demonstrates that the Faculty and the burgh government sponsored football on Shrove Tuesday, and that the Faculty planned to withhold this support in future due to the disorder caused by the sport.

Let’s summarize what we know. During the 1530s and presumably earlier, the provost (mayor) of St Andrews – or the city bailies (bailiffs) on his behalf – customarily provided one football each to the three main colleges of the university on Shrove Tuesday for play in the fields outside the city. For some undeclared reason, in 1537 (and based on the bursar’s accounts presumably 1535 too) the Faculty of Arts’ Dean (instead of the burgh provost) furnished the football for one of the colleges called the Pedagogy. But then on the day of play, the Faculty’s Beadle (a type of officer) ended up confiscating that same ball, causing a ‘great schism’ in the fields. Prompted by this particular disorder, and the ‘many ills’ the football had engendered in the past, the Faculty decided to withdraw their tacit or direct support for the tradition: Arts students should no longer receive a ball from the burgh hereafter.

St Andrews and Shrovetide Sport

To make sense of all this, we need to start with the institutions involved. The provost and his two baillies were the elected leaders of the burgh council. This was the city government made up of select burgesses/freemen (merchants and craftsmen who were members of the city’s ‘freedom’ with its special economic and political privileges). The colleges in question were St Leonard and St Salvatore, and the Pedagogy – a quasi-college run by the Faculty of Arts. Like at Oxford or Cambridge today, these colleges were semi-autonomous educational institutions responsible for the housing and teaching of students. Teachers, curricula and exams were organized under faculties, with Arts being the lowest and largest, acting as a prerequisite for the three higher faculties of Medicine, Law and Theology. Faculties and colleges all came under the unifying authority of ‘the University of St Andrews’ which had been incorporated under a foundational charter from the pope in 1413. The sixteenth-century map below summarizes when and where the institutional players in this football drama emerged over the course of the university’s first century.3

Annotated map of sixteenth-century St Andrews 'S. Andre sive Andreapolis Scotiae Universitas Metropolitana' c.1580 by John Geddy, highlighting key institutions and locations for patronage of Shrove Tuesday football in 1530s.
Annotation of sixteenth-century map of St Andrews ‘S. Andre sive Andreapolis Scotiae Universitas Metropolitana’ c.1580 by John Geddy, highlighting key institutions and locations for patronage of Shrove Tuesday football in 1530s. Map reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland. CC-BY

We can deduce that the Shrove Tuesday football tradition changed over the years, merely by looking at when the colleges had been founded. St Leonard’s had only come into existence about two decades prior to the 1537 incident. Before this time, the burgh presumably only had two footballs on its Shrovetide gift list. Or perhaps the whole tradition was a quite recent innovation. For several reasons, however, I think the custom stretched back into the fifteenth century, and was simply adapted as the university grew and changed.

For one, Shrovetide sports are documented at the university from its earliest years. In 1415 the Faculty of Arts allowed the grammar schoolboys their old customary privilege of Shrovetide cockfighting, as long as these bloodsports were restricted to three days, rather than three weeks (!). No mention is made of football then, but cockfighting, football and Shrovetide were a package deal in many medieval communities. In twelfth-century London, scholars held cockfights on Shrove Tuesday morning, and played a ball game in the afternoon, while the great and good of the city looked on with approval. Likewise in the fifteenth-century Norman town of Abbeville, the schoolboy who won the Shrovetide cockfight helped the mayor preside over the ball game.4 It’s therefore quite possible that students and the burgh council were already involved with football back when the university was founded.

Certainly, by the end of the century, football was popular enough to prompt university, faculty and college bans. But where would that leave any established Shrovetide matches? While football was technically an unlawful game, many authorities in medieval and early modern Britain made an exception on Shrove Tuesday and other important festivals. South of the border, for example, Durham priory regularly banned football among its tenants during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Yet in 1492 the prior explicitly allowed certain villages to play the game on two days of the year: Plough Monday and Shrove Tuesday.5

Reasons for Institutional Support of Football

Why would those in power make such exceptions? Tolerating or even sponsoring football on established occasions could give officials a degree of control over a rowdy game – a chance to channel students’ festive energies into approved and supervised outlets. But as I’ve written elsewhere, institutional interest in football often went beyond a desire for social control. This was especially true for civic institutions, like the burgh government of St Andrews. Many urban craftsmen and tradesmen in medieval and early modern Britain were deeply invested in football, whether as players or patrons. Some within this burgeoning middling sort found great value in the sport, despite its illegal stature and violent nature. It could be a marker of a freeman’s status – both a privilege and obligation – to facilitate football, and thereby provide entertainment and ‘manly exercise’ for the ‘commonwealth’. We see the currency of football as a common good and right of the people of St Andrews in a 1553 contract between the burgh council and the Archbishop. It allowed the Archbishop a rabbit warren in the common links (pictured below), but reserved to the community ‘all manner of right and possession’ on the commons, including ‘playing at golf, football, shooting at game, with all manner of other pastimes as ever they please’.6

St Andrews Old Course. Once the common links of the city used for resources, and recreations like football as well as golf. It is likely where the Shrove Tuesday football took place in the medieval burgh. Image credit: UK Golf Guy.

Freemen who did not uphold football could be punished severely, like the maltman from Rutherglen (near Glasgow) who had his goods seized in 1626 because he didn’t join the rest of the burgesses on the town green for the annual Fastern’s Eve match. There’s a seriousness about football here that I think modern fans would recognize, although you won’t get fined for missing the derby these days! And I think this seriousness is key to understanding the 1530s incident. When the provost stopped giving a football to the Pedagogy, he seems to have continued giving ones to the two rival colleges. I suspect the Arts Faculty stepped in to make sure their associated college received proper due as befitted its equal status and privileges, something all three colleges guarded fiercely. Moreover, receiving the provost’s football gifts and participating in the Shrovetide sport likely reaffirmed symbolically the city and university’s important (yet sometimes fraught) relationship. The Faculty may not have approved of football themselves, but exclusion from a longstanding and laudable Shrovetide custom would be a dishonour on many counts. This prompts the question: why did the burgh slight the Pedagogy by withholding their ball, and why did the Dean’s substitute ball end up causing controversy? Context is key here.

Since its founding in the early fifteenth century, the Pedagogy had been chronically underfunded. Periodic attempts over the century to re-found it as a proper college with adequate endowment and buildings had failed. After 1533, the Pedagogy and its buildings were in such decay that student enrollment plummeted. While St Salvator’s and St Leonard’s were graduating around thirteen students a year, the Pedagogy could claim zero. Something was finally done in February 1538, one year after the Faculty pulled out of the Shrovetide football. The Pedagogy was re-founded as the properly endowed St Mary’s College.7 With this context in mind, I hypothesize that the burgh stopped giving the Pedagogy a customary ball once it became clear there was no coherent student body to accept it; the Faculty tried to save face for a few years by purchasing their own balls before withdrawing support for the custom entirely. This theory tracks with the Arts bursar’s accounts, which span before and after the 1530s, but only show football purchases in 1535 and 1537.

St Mary’s College, St Andrews. Built on the location of the old Pedagogy in the sixteenth century. Image Courtesy of the University of St Andrews Library, ID PGA-6-10 © The University of St Andrews

Football Play and Profitability

We don’t get any specific details on how the St Andrews football games were played, but we can speculate based on the ball distribution, location, and comparative examples. Historians have assumed the game was either intercollegiate or between city and university. These are reasonable assumptions. We can find examples of town vs gown Shrovetide matches in early modern Cambridge and Oxford. In the late fifteenth century, rivalry between the Pedagogy and St Salvator’s led to bloodshed, while about a century later St Leonard’s and St Salvator’s students were ordered to take recreation in different fields to avoid conflict.8 However, based on the fact that each college received their own ball, it seems more likely to me that the games were intra-collegiate: students played their own college peers. We find this structure later in the century at Cambridge, where football was allowed but only within colleges, never between them.9 Similarly at the beginning of the seventeenth century, the University of Aberdeen’s Marischal College propagated weekly football matches within the college student body. Students were further divided based on their year, and there were complicated rules for how new balls should be supplied when the ones in play inevitably burst (see slide below).

Slide with some examples of institutional support from schools universities and burgh governments for football after the Scottish Reformation. It details regulations from Marischal College (Aberdeen) in 1605 and mentions of David Wedderburn's educational contributions to the sport in the 1630s. The text also details burgh corporations like Glasgow and Rutherglen providing footballs and promoting the game during the late 1500s and 1600s.

It’s often assumed that premodern football was a bloody free-for-all with uneven throngs of players, indeterminate boundaries, and no rules. But not only could this cross-country style of play exhibit sophisticated tactics and rules in its own right, it was also not the sport’s only form.10 From post-Reformation Scotland we can also find examples of small and even-sided games, defined playing areas and goals, passing and goal keeping. Play at the Aberdeen schools and colleges had some of these features, and if the St Andrews Shrovetide football was intra-collegiate and confined to the links it may have looked similar. Certainly, university officials (normally hostile to football) were more likely to tolerate play of this more structured form.

On the other hand, it is possible there was just one free-for-all game where the balls were tossed up in turn. This was how the civic-sponsored Shrove Tuesday game worked in Chester during the 1530s.11 Plus, the Faculty act technically refers to a ‘game’ in the singular (ludo) which followed the receiving of the balls, though this could also be translated as the more ambiguous word ‘play’. Perhaps the provost even gave out additional balls to other civic institutions (beyond the colleges) which went unmentioned in the Faculty records. Later in the century, for example, the Glasgow burgh council annually bought six footballs for their town’s own Fastern’s Eve festivities, though no rhyme or reason was ever given for such a specific number (see slide above). But again, I think the events narrated in the Faculty’s act support the intra-collegiate hypothesis. If the Pedagogy’s ball was just one of a series to be played by everyone in the fields, it’s not clear why it specifically should prompt disorder and confiscation. There was obviously something controversial about who should possess this particular ball. I suspect that without a substantial Pedagogy student body to play with the Dean’s football, students from the other colleges tried to claim it for themselves. When the Arts Beadle intervened, the students were not pleased.

The Faculty of Arts used this incident as pretext for withdrawing support from the Shrovetide game, at least ‘so far as concerned it’. This wording speaks to the Faculty’s limited jurisdiction in the matter. Although the congregation couched the decision as in the best interests of the whole university, the Faculty only held power over its own students and the Pedagogy. They could not stop the burgh from offering the footballs, nor the other colleges from accepting them. This makes it even more likely the single game referred to in the act was the Pedagogy’s game, something the Faculty had some say in, rather than a general free-for-all. It’s also a reminder that Shrovetide football may have continued in St Andrews long after the Faculty signaled its disapproval. If the 1553 contract concerning access to the common links (mentioned above) is anything to go on, the burgh council remained sympathetic to football for some time, as did many civic institutions in Scotland.

Slide summarizing conflicting views on the social value of football in medieval and early modern Scotland, featuring points from various sources including quotes from Parliament acts and notable figures, discussing football's dangers and unprofitable nature on one hand, and benefits as a manly exercise on the other.

The burgh and university’s differing attitudes towards football point to an ongoing and underlying ideological debate about the premodern sport’s social value (see slide above): was it a manly exercise of good fellowship and community worthy of patronage, or an unprofitable waste of time, health and property to be prohibited? This St Andrews case shows how complicated this sort of cost-benefit analysis could get. When the Faculty’s ledger finally swung fully to ‘unprofitable’, it cited the ‘many ills’ and disorder football brought to the university. But it was perhaps just as much (or more) about avoiding further embarrassment over the derelict state of their Pedagogy and its lack of students. After all, the Faculty had only just gone out of their way to keep the Pedagogy involved in the custom. Clearly, football held a value that was difficult to quantify or ignore, something which prompted educational and civic institutions throughout premodern Scotland to invest.

As we know, universities and cities (schoolboys and workers) would continue to shape the development of Scottish football into the modern era. The story of the ‘oldest firm’ shows just how deep that heritage goes. And for just how long Scottish football has been ‘more than a game’.

  1. This question formed part of a talk I gave for the University of Edinburgh’s Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies in November 2024. The slides in this post are from that talk. For football in medieval and early modern Perth, see pp. 120-125 of my thesis. ↩︎
  2. The bursar payments are in St Andrews Special Collections, UYUY412 Faculty of Arts. Bursars book, 1456-1853, fols. 27v, 28v. The faculty act is printed in A. I. Dunlop, ed. Acta Facultatis atrium Universitatis Sanctiandree 1413 – 1588, 2 vols. (Scottish History Society, 1964), vol. 2 pp. 380-381. For digitization of the original manuscript see SASC, UY411/1 Acta facultatis arterium. 1413-1728, fol. 166v. From 1534-7, day wages for building labourers in Linlithgow, Falkland and Edinburgh averaged 8-10 pence. See A. J. S. Gibson and T. C. Smout. Prices, Food and Wages in Scotland, 1550–1780 (CUP, 1994), p. 313. ↩︎
  3. Roger A. Mason, ‘University, City and Society’, in K. Stevenson and M. Brown (eds.) Medieval St Andrews: Church, Cult, City (Boydell & Brewer, St Andrews Studies in Scottish History, 2017), pp. 268–297. ↩︎
  4. On Shrovetide sports in St Andrews see David Ditchburn, ‘Religion, Ritual and the Rhythm of the Year in Later Medieval St Andrews’, in K. Stevenson and M. Brown (eds.) Medieval St Andrews: Church, Cult, City (Boydell & Brewer, St Andrews Studies in Scottish History, 2017), p. 105. For Shrovetide cockfighting and football in Britain see chapters 1 and 2 of my thesis. The Abbeville reference is to the football-like ball game of ‘cholle’ or soule. See John Brand, Observations on Popular Antiquities: Chiefly Illustrating the Origin of Our Vulgar Customs, Ceremonies and Superstitions, 2 vols. ed. Henry Ellis (1811 edition), vol 1, p. 66. ↩︎
  5. Durham University Special Collections, DCD-Halm.Rolls, 1492 Spring, Billingham and Cowpen Bewley. ↩︎
  6. Norman Reid, ‘Five Centuries of Dispute: The Common Land of St Andrews’, Scottish Archives 21 (2015), p. 31. ↩︎
  7. Mason, pp. 288-296. ↩︎
  8. Ronald Gordon Cant, The University of St Andrews: A Short History (3rd edition, 1992), pp. 32,37. St. Leonard’s students were ordered to take recreation in St Nicholas fields, outside the city near their college, while St Salvator’s students were to go to the old links, near their college. ↩︎
  9. I hope to write soon on college football in Tudor and Stuart Cambridge. ↩︎
  10. On the sophisticated tactics of traditional cross-country football games see Hugh Hornby, Uppies and Downies: The Extraordinary Football Games of Britain, (Swindon: English Heritage, 2008). ↩︎
  11. See chapter 2 of my thesis for details on the Chester game. ↩︎

Common Wealth Games: Civic Shrove Tuesday Football in Medieval and Early Modern Britain

An adapted version of this post was published as Pancakes and football: a brief history of Shrove Tuesday in the UK for The Conversation.

For nearly a millennium, Brits have celebrated Shrove Tuesday with food and sport. Today, pancakes have become the chief focus of what was once a more elaborate pre-Lent festival called Shrovetide. But during the medieval and early modern periods, a spirit of communal play and competition pervaded almost every aspect of Britain’s Carnival. Shrovetide games ranged from cruel animal blood-sports like cock-fighting, to tug-o-wars and skipping. Yet no Shrovetide sport was more widespread and long standing than football.

According to players from the Scottish Borders town of Duns in 1686, it was ‘an ancient custom throughout all this kingdom to play at football upon Fastens Eve [i.e. Shrove Tuesday]’. And indeed, Shrovetide ball games are documented from the 12th century onwards, in scores of communities throughout Britain and northern France, with several surviving today in England and Scotland. Despite legal bans on football in pre-modern Britain, many Shrove Tuesday matches benefited from the support of those in charge, like the bailiff and elders of Duns. Why did some civic institutions and leaders embrace this game in the face of prohibition, and what can this tell us about the social value of football, sport and festivity in the past?   

Shrove Tuesday football in Ashbourne, Derbyshire on 9 February 2016. Two games are played every year. One on Shrove Tuesday and the other on Ash Wednesday. Evidence for the tradition may date back as early as 1683. Photo Credit: Taylor Aucoin

‘Football’ in this pre-modern sense refers to a loose family of games where players contested a ball with hand and/or foot, usually towards a goal. As ancestors to our modern football codes (association, rugby, American, etc.), ‘folk football’ matches varied considerably in manner of play. Shrovetide games were often the marquee match-ups of the day, mass games with scores or even hundreds of participants. Whether town versus country, or married against bachelors, teams battled to move the ball through streets and countryside, towards goals like mills, streams, or even the kirk.  

Due to its destructive potential, football oft fell afoul of authority. Medieval royal prohibitions called it ‘vain, unthrifty and idle’, while Puritans deemed it ‘a bloody and murdering practise’. But others in power obviously saw its appeal, to judge from its festive sponsorship in many cities and towns. Tudor Chester provides a detailed and prototypical example. Every Shrove Tuesday in the early 16th century, the Merchant Drapers’ Company received a football from the Shoemakers’ Company, a wooden ball from the Saddlers’ Company, and a small silk ball from each city freeman married within the last year. Under the mayor’s supervision, the Drapers tossed up the balls (which doubled as prizes) for the craftsmen and crowd to play from the common field to the city’s Common Hall.

The particulars of Chester’s Shrovetide sponsorship were mirrored throughout the British Isles. Craftsmen and guilds played key roles as participants and providers of the ball. On Shrove Tuesday 1373, skinners and tailors played in the streets of London, while butchers did the same in Jedburgh 1704. The Skinners’ and Shoemakers’ companies paraded the ball to the match between married and bachelor freemen in late 18th-century Alnwick. Indeed, leather-workers like shoemakers were especially important, crafting Shrovetide footballs in 15th-century London, 16th-century Glasgow and 17th-century Carlisle.  

Newlyweds also fronted the ball in many communities. As in Chester, recently married freemen of Dublin had to present a ball to city magistrates every Shrove Tuesday during the 15th and 16th centuries. Newlywed members of trade guilds in Perth and Corfe Castle (Dorset) also paid a Shrovetide ‘football due’, while a similar custom seems to have existed in medieval London. These were part of a broader folk tradition, where new married couples owed a ‘bride ball’ or ‘ball money’ to their community. Since weddings were customary during Shrovetide (and prohibited in Lent), it was an ideal time to collect.

Behind all this, civic governments might collect the ‘wedding ball’ dues, hire drummers and pipers to pump up the crowds, or pay for equipment. Gradually, authorities in most major cities did withdraw their support from Shrovetide football. Some cities like St Andrews simply banned it; in 1537 the burgh provost and university dean cancelled the annual match because of its ‘many ills’ and ‘disorder’. Others ‘reformed’ the games into less dangerous entertainments, like foot and horse races in 1540 Chester, or a public display of the city fire-engine’s capabilities in 1725 Carlisle. By the middle of the 18th century, officially sanctioned Shrovetide ball games were mostly confined to smaller market towns and villages. But why did official support for an ‘unlawful game’ linger as long as it did?

Carlisle chamberlain account expenses on ‘Shrovetewsday for the plaies’ in 1663, including 12 pence for a football. CRO: CA/4/3, 1 Mar. 1662-3. Credit: Image reproduced with kind permission from Cumbria Archive Centre, Carlisle.

Partially, sponsorship let officials (somewhat) contain a rowdy game that might happen with or without their consent. Certainly, outright bans were rarely effective, to judge from repeated mayoral ordinances ‘against football play at Shrovetide’ in the streets of Elizabethan London. Yet, the appeal of patronage went beyond social control. The often exclusive participation of guild or burgh members (known as ‘freemen’) in Shrovetide ball games reaffirmed corporate status, with its privileges and obligations. These obligations could include football itself. In January 1590, the shoemaker John Neil was made a ‘burgess’ or freeman of Glasgow in exchange for supplying ‘six good and sufficient footballs’ every Shrove Tuesday during his lifetime.

Failure to participate in or furnish football, via payments of the ‘wedding ball’ for example, could result in imprisonment, heavy fines, or the forced closing of a craftsman’s shop. The goods of maltman Robert Dykes of Rutherglen were distrained in 1626 because he failed to join the rest the burgesses on the town green for the annual Shrovetide match. These harsh consequences reflect the worth of Shrove Tuesday football to these pre-modern communities. To them it was not a ‘vain and idle’ game, but an ‘ancient and laudable custom’ of ‘goodly feats and exercise’. Rather than ‘unthrifty’, its value equated to the ‘benefit of the Company’, and the ‘common wealth of the city’, ideals which civic officials deemed well worth preserving.

The Politics of Pancakes

On Shrove Tuesday 1270, the monks of Beaulieu Abbey in the New Forest rewarded their lay manorial workers with pancakes, with the youngest employees also receiving a feast of beef, cheese and ale in the great hall of the abbey’s infirmary. This is the earliest known evidence of Shrove Tuesday pancakes in England.

The general origins of this tradition are familiar: medieval Europeans used up their meat and dairy in anticipation of the Lenten fast and its many prohibitions, gradually developing a festival of joy and raucous play, known by various food-related names like Carnivale (leaving off meat), and Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday). 

Yet the practices of medieval Beaulieu Abbey hint at another layer of meaning baked into the foods of Shrove Tuesday: a power to inform social relations, convey privileges to certain members of premodern society and even symbolise radical action. 

Read the full article in History Today.

Carnival Countdown: Season of Love, Lust & Marriage

The next day being Shroue-tuesday, a day of pleasure, and jollitie by custome, but farre more delightfull by reason of this magnificent mariage, which moued many occasions of mirth in his Highnes court…

The mariage of Prince Fredericke, and the Kings daughter, the Lady Elizabeth, vpon Shrouesunday last (1613)

Princess Elizabeth Stuart and Frederick V, Elector Palatine married on 14th February 1613 (pictured above), staging their diplomatic pairing during the communal celebrations of St Valentine’s Day and Shrovetide. The choice of occasion was strategic, but also rooted in tradition, as Shrovetide and the ‘coupling month’ of February were strongly associated with love and marriage.

Indeed, Shrovetide was perhaps the most popular festival for weddings during the early modern period. It was the last chance before Lent, when marriage was strictly forbidden, and the season’s competing themes of lust and chastity could be resolved in a ceremony of mutual love.

Technically, however, marriage was forbidden during Shrovetide as well. Without special ecclesiastical dispensation, weddings could not be celebrated from Septuagesima Sunday, the ninth Sunday before Easter,  until eight days after Easter. This did not seem to stop the eager betrothed: statistical evidence from marriage registers shows that the Shrovetide ban was frequently ignored or circumvented, while the Lenten ban was closely observed. Princess Elizabeth Stuart’s grandmother, Mary Queen of Scots, hosted court weddings during four out of the six Shrovetides of her short personal rule (1561-1567). A letter written by Sir W. Knox in 1685 likewise conveys the association with acerbic wit:

Thy dear Sister is to be Married on Shrove-Tuesday, and at Night to be laid upon her back as flat as a Pancake, and no doubt will give and receive a curious time on’t.

With births and weddings abounding, Valentines exchanged, and the Lenten ban on marriage and conjugal relations looming, fertility stood front and center during the Shrovetide season. But this went beyond simple association, or vague fertility rites. Many early moderns believed they could pair festive time and custom to actively influence their own lives. This verse from Poor Robin’s Almanac (1682), although comical in tone, illustrates the medicinal purposes to which Shrovetide foods were put to use:

The Month with Shrove-tide out doth go,
When as the Boys at Cocks do throw,
The Broth of whom (the flesh being boild)
For them can’t get their wives with Child,
Physicians say is very good
To raise new viogour in their blood,
And so by using of this trade
Keep them from being Cuckolds made

Read more on Shrovetide customs here, and stay tuned for more anecdotes of Mardi Gras history.

Carnival Countdown is a series of brief blog posts sharing stories from the medieval and early history of Carnival, as we count down the final days of the season.