Country life
Pleasing cheeses
Leanda. de Lisle
An owl hooted as we arrived at THE pIG IN M CK for the masters versus earth stoppers skittles night. I knew 'masters' meant masters of fox-hounds and their wives. I had a vague understanding that earth stoppers meant terrier men. But I had no idea what skittles might involve. I hoped the game wouldn't crack my week- long resolve to stay off cigarettes and walked through the door feeling like the new kid at the shakedown saloon.
People stood around in groups, some leaning against the brick walls, others sit- ting on pine tables. I wasn't sure who the masters were and who the earth stoppers. There was no binder twine or blazers to distinguish them, simply a general impres- sion of green and brown clothing worn with jeans no bluer than tap water. I ordered some lager and tried not to notice just how many smokers there were around me. For some reason people who spend a lot of time in the fresh air have a more than aver- age inclination to fill their lungs with car- cinogenic chemicals.
I did, however, spot a photograph of the pub taken perhaps 50 years ago. A number of black and white figures in stiff coats and flimsy dresses stood beneath a sign reading `The Bull's Head'.
The pub's current locals all remembered the old name and none approved of the new, which may explain why the THE PIG IN MUCK had been allowed to drop its P and lose its U. Above the fireplace and attached to the ceilings there were what appeared to be further examples of resis- tance to change: fairy lights, tinsel and swags of fake fruit and leaves — in short, Christmas decorations. No one seemed to think this strange.
I found the main attraction around a cor- ner. I'd imagined the skittles table would be a flimsy, modern construction with skit- tles the size of table footballers. But what I came upon looked like one half of a solid Victorian kitchen table with a net behind and leather sides that resembled the wings on an armchair. A crowd of earth stoppers stood around it waiting their turn to prac- tise their shots. I paid careful attention as a player stood at a marked spot a few feet from the table, holding three weighty wooden discs in his hand. They looked like cheeses and are, as I later discovered, actu- ally called cheeses.
The object of the game is to throw your discs at the nine milk-bottle-sized skittles on the table, knocking down as many as you can. There seem to be no rules about how you throw the discs. Some players use a left-hand curve, others a right-hand, some throw underarm and some bowl, which is rather scary. It looked simple enough and when the match began and my turn came round it seemed to me that there was as much luck as skill involved. With one throw I knocked down all but one skittle, with the next, my cheese hit the edge of the table and fell uselessly to the floor.
Some of the novices in our team did bril- liantly — to the horror of the earth stop- pers (or Spade Men with Dogs, as they'd described themselves on the scoreboard). At quarter to ten we had won two games to their one and dinner was ready to be served. Those masters who had been hunt- ing that day and hadn't eaten any lunch were ravenous. But the earth stoppers, who had been asking each other 'Is it the best of three?', had agreed, 'It's the first to three.' For a stomach-rumbling moment the mas- ters feared they would have to play on. However, the earth stoppers were prepared to wait for their revenge and suggested that we continue the match after dinner.
Sausages and stew, chips, beans and buns, washed down with beer, sated the appetites of 48 people for £97. It made me want to eat all the unkind words I have ever said about pubs. It also worked as rocket fuel for the earth stoppers. While some had looked as if they were in shock before they sat down to eat, after dinner they roared and sent their cheeses crashing down on the skittles, winning two games and the match before 11 o'clock. I was shaken, but not stirred and remain off the fags.
Petronella Wyatt's column returns next week.
A kiss will suffice.'
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