“Have you been kicked out of the club.”
I replied, with some dignity, that no bowler has been expelled as the club is struggling to increase membership.
His comment rankled, though, and with the season now wrapping up it’s time to give bowls a run.
My own bowling is nothing to write home about and I didn’t trouble the Back Jacks selectors.
Perhaps a personal view of the history of the game might satisfy my reader.
Did Sir Francis Drake delay setting out to destroy the Spanish Armada so that he could finish his game of bowls?
One historian notes the incident was first recorded just 40 years after the battle, so it is possible that the tale is based on an eyewitness account.
My favourite story tells of bias being introduced in 1522 when the Duke of Suffolk broke a bowl, rushed indoors and sawed off an ornamental knob from a stairway banister as a replacement.
One part was flat and took a curving direction at the end of its run, instead of continuing on a straight line.
He experimented by curving his bowl around others and biased bowls came into use.
Of course, Shakespeare’s remarkably frequent mentions of bowls are often quoted even though his timing may have sometimes been awry.
In Cymbeline, set in England during Roman rule, Cymbeline’s son Cloten says, “Was there ever man had such luck? When I kissed the jack upon an upcast, to be hit away!”
Samuel Pepys’ diary entry for May 1 1661 reads: “Here very merry, and played us and our wives at Bowls.”
Bowls has featured in television shows Last of the Summer Wine and Doc Martin and while I’ve never seen these shows I’m not surprised the reviewer commented, “the bowls scenes captured the camaraderie and community spirit of the sport.”
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce and The Last Bowler by Bill Cox are “novels which feature bowls as a central motif, weaving the sport into the fabric of their stories.”
Bowls as a central motif in a novel would be hard going unless perhaps it was one of those detective yarns in which Inspector Plod is called in when an unpopular bowler is found on the green with a fatal head wound caused by a violent blow from a heavy round object.
The chances of being done to death on the green have not deterred New Zealand’s 27,000 regular bowlers from enjoying their sport.
There are said to be another 130,000 casual players which stacks up well against the country’s 150,000 registered rugby players.
I’m not sure where I fit in, being both a regular and very casual bowler. Regular and erratic might cover my approach to the game.
Naturally, as a columnist in a trusted newspaper I’m under constant stress and a report from a medical journal summed it up well, “bowls offers a tranquil and meditative experience, providing an opportunity to unwind and disconnect from the stresses of everyday life. The rhythmic nature of the game and the serene outdoor environment of the greens, creates a calming atmosphere conducive to relaxation and stress reduction. Focusing on the strategic aspects of the game can also divert attention from sources of anxiety, promoting mental wellbeing.”
That writer had obviously never played against Middlemarch when they’re hot but he’s right, apart from the “strategic aspects” — something I’ve never really got my head around.
Strangely, bowls can be dangerous and the ACC pays out about $1 million each year to people with bowls-related injuries.
An Australian report lists the most common bowls injuries as: “falls (59%, including trips and slips on the green during play, when traversing the ditch and on steps and paths in areas around the clubhouse or carpark); overexertion (31%, sprains and strains); and being struck by a bowl (7%).”
So far I’ve never tripped or slipped, overexerted or been struck by a bowl.
Nevertheless, it’s a comfort to know that my ACC levies are assisting my fellow bowlers.
Unlike cricket, bowls seems not to have produced any great poetry, but this bit of doggerel might do for now:
Sunlight glints on varnished curves,
shadows stretch like patient rules;
the jack waits pale and small, yet proud,
a beacon in the measured war.
And when the final bowl comes home,
its kiss a soft, decisive sound,
the world feels level, calm, complete —
a game well played upon the green.
It is time to put away the bowls and perhaps even read the book of rules for the first time during the long winter evenings.
• Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer.
