Wednesday 18 November 2009

The heritage of Quoits

Father and son, Andrew and John White at Fylingthorpe Open North of England Championship on June 9th, 1979.
Mr. White beat Andrew this game to go onto the semi-final against George Hutton of the Fylingthorpe Club.
Andrew will have led off and put a ringer on.  Mr. White is attempting to top the ringer by throwing a flat quoit.

Quoits is a game I never got round to playing seriously, we used to lark about as kids and made our own pitch now and then; to others this was a very serious game and competition between village teams and individuals was keen. Older cousins and uncles would head out on an evening to a quoits match, this would usually involve a glass of beer or two and therefore attract us as spectators. The photo above is John White playing off against his son Andrew, Andrew turned out to be as good a player as his dad and beating him to the pin on a number of occasions. I am grateful to Ian McDonald of Grosmont and his pictures on Amber Online; these were taken in 1979.

There used to be a very special occasion, generally around this time of year. This was the Quoits handicap (Fr Pat Bluett trophy) a chance for any new comer to steal a prize. I remember my first time at the “Ugthorpe Quoits night”, apart from the players prizes there were the winners of the raffle, domino drive; why do I mention all that? Well first up to sing is the winner of the trophy (while the trophy itself is being filled up behind the bar); thenThe Danby and District League Open Quoits Championship.
Winner John White (right) celebrating, accompanied by Ed White on the piano accordion.
The League championship was held during '79 at the Rifle Club Ground, Whitby.  Whitby Rifle Club, on the west side of Whitby, has a splendid rifle range as well as 3 outdoor quoit grounds and 2 indoor grounds.
The indoor grounds allow a winter quoit league of nine five-a-side teams to thrive. come the other prize winners each with a song of their choosing. The trophy begins its trip round the room, each person drinking the health of the winner. Now I have to say I was only a mere 17-years (or was it 16) and I was on strict instructions from my dad to only wet my lips on the cup. Once all the prize winners had sung it fell on the last one to nominate the next singer; there was no escape. Dad would sing his favourite Irish song Mush, Mush, Mush tural-i-addy and as years went by and many more Quoits nights it became impossible for me to leave without singing “thee Dad’s song”. There was so much more than the strange metal ring thrown from one end of the pitch to the other, much more than the strange terms – Gater – Frenchman – Hill-up – Trig-man. This is a farming community, handing down skills in the field, in sport and socialising; looking back now, we learned a lot considering we didn’t play.

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