Poetry and Song
Mangold Hurling has always been celebrated in words and music. Handed down from generation to generation through the oral folk tradition, many of these fine songs and poems are still performed enthusiastically at the celebrations which follow each year’s contests. We present below some of the most popular pieces which are often accompanied on traditional instruments.
Ode to a Mangold Hurl (trad.)
Each year when Autumn comes to pass
And tawny owls do hoot
We take ourselves out to the grass
To hurl our sacred root
The maids do come to hope and pray
They'll be the one who's chosen
By the champion hurler of this day
In smock or lederhosen
Village folk from far and wide
Meet at the chosen field
To watch their men with bursting pride
Take aim with this year's yield
The willow's cut, the Norman's set
The pitching basket's ready
The Watcher gets himself all wet*
The atmosphere turns heady
Each hurler in his turn does stand
Before the expectant crowd
Who watch for where his mangold lands
And roar with cheers out loud
And when the last root's hit the soil
The crowd begin to sing
The end of this year's sweat and toil
We have our Mangold King.
* The meaning of this is obscure.
A Mangold Song (trad.)
As I set out one October morn
To take the morning air
A chanting did I hear afar
That brought me to its lair
The calling was from folk all set
To watch the roots be laid
By men who each desired to be
The one who chose the maid
I saw the Norman set in turf
The crowd roared in delight
The pitchers got themselves all set
To champion this year's fight
The mangold cart was piled high
With roots all topped with green
The hurlers chose their favoured one
The first then set the scene
And each in turn did pitch his beet
With all his might and guile
The mantle of the winning hurl
Did call them all the while
When all the roots were from the cart
The winner none could see
A roar went up from one and all
They called out, "Willow 'e!"
The willow came and took his branch
A silence fell so swift
He had to chose from equal throws
And heal a village rift
The Burtle boys were sure they'd won
And dancing they did start
But then at once the Willow called
"Ye hear, it's won by Hart"
The crowd were hushed, the feud was set
The Burtles 'gainst the Harts
Another year just like the last
Bad times in these 'ere parts
But as the tempers rose in step
Their fears were were allayed
A Burtle girl was chosen as
This year's Mangold Maid.