Archery

Living in Hastings, in an area known as 1066 Country, I’ve always felt a certain affinity with the noble art of archery.  The Battle of Hastings was after all where Kind Harold famously (and probably erroneously) lost an eye to an errant arrow on the battlefield, whilst attempting to fend off the invading Normans and with them, William the Conqueror, whose claim to the throne of England Harold didn’t quite see eye-to-eye with, if you’ll excuse the awful pun.  That was the last time mainland Britain was successfully invaded by any attacking force, if you ignore the failed attempt by a horde of French criminals and mercenaries led by an American septuagenarian by the name of William Tate in 1797, which most people do.  From that fateful day in October 1066, through Agincourt (or more accurately, Azincourt) and right upto the Second World War where Lieutenant Colonel Jack ‘Mad Jack’ Churchill cut down a German soldier with his longbow in France in 1940, the English have had a great connection with archery.

As a proud Brit and a great lover of tradition, archery seemed like the perfect sport for me to attempt.  Indeed, in the week leading up to it, I had Tweeted about how much I was looking forward to it and even expressed some, perhaps misguided, confidence ahead of my session which was set for Wednesday 31^st October, 2012 – Hallowe’en.  The only minor worry I had was when I spoke to my instructor-to-be, Tony Tutt, on the Saturday beforehand; all fine, he said.  Looking forward to it, he said.  Just one thing...if it’s raining, it’s off.  Ah.  Well that would’ve been a disaster.  Postponing death-wish BMXing in a monsoon is one thing, but surely archers were tougher than that?!  I can’t imagine armies of big, hairy longbowmen suddenly upping and running for cover the moment a bit of drizzle set in!  Evidently though, rain can affect the trajectory of the arrows as, when the fletchings (pretty feathery bits at the end of the arrow) get wet, they cause drag.  Not something the elite archers necessarily worry about, but tricky conditions in which to teach a novice such as myself.  Fair enough then. 

Mercifully as it happened, Hallowe’en dawned dry and bright, if rather chilly.  My friend & photographer Hollie and I set out for a field in Catsfield near Battle – the eponymously named location for the Battle of Hastings and the actual location of the medieval fisticuffs – about five miles from Hastings.  After several wrong turns in which we found ourselves variously in someone’s drive and heading into a large barn, we eventually found the right field and there, bearded and grinning, was my delightful instructor, Tony, a man with the strongest handshake known to humanity.  Something about the firm grip and beard were reassuring. 

The first thing I noticed was that, of the dozen or so targets in the field, there was one which was unmistakably meant for me, being as it was, about five yards out.  Before I could make mincemeat of that target however, Tony first talked me through the safety rules.  Nobody ever shoots from in front of or behind the line – always on the line, feet straddling it, about shoulder-width apart.  Secondly, nobody ever shoots an arrow without first checking that the space in front of the line is completely clear of people, animals or anything else you mightn’t want to pierce with an arrow.  May sound obvious, but I was glad to hear it nonetheless, as indeed was Hollie.  For similar safety reasons, once you’ve shot your six arrows, you wait until everyone else has finished shooting too before heading out together to retrieve your arrows.  Nothing is guaranteed to ruin a nice day in the country like an arrow in your head.  Just ask Harold.

Tony Tutt with the gurning Queen of the Potato People.  Nice bow though. 

Once the formalities had been covered, Tony began kitting me out.  First of all came the bracer, a device which strapped onto my left (front) arm to help to prevent what’s known as the ‘Archer’s Kiss’.  This is the rather misleadingly romantic name given to the contact between the fleshy underside of your arm and the string of your bow, when you fail to ensure that your arm isn’t in line with the trajectory of arrow and string upon release.  But you’d have to be pretty stupid not to ensure that that didn’t happen...

Secondly came the fingertab, a small piece of leather (which reminded me, foolishly, of a leather castanet) which fitted over the fingers on my right hand to a) protect the fingers from the string and b) offer less resistance upon release.   Next up came the bow itself, a Recurve variety and the type used in the modern Olympic games.  It’s an impressive looking bit of kit but very modern and quite far removed from the traditional image of carved, wooden longbows and angry Englishmen.  More layered fibreglass and efficient South Koreans.  Nevertheless it felt surprisingly nice to hold and I was itching to get firing.

First though, Tony took me through the basics of the hold.  It felt at first, quite uncomfortable holding the bow out in front as, lightweight as it was, I could feel and see my whole left arm shaking and trembling; quite how I was supposed to line up the sight with the gold at the centre of the target was beyond me.  It’s hard to explain how odd it feels to let go of the arrow with your right hand when it feels like, by so doing, you’re throwing the whole delicate balance off.  It felt like as soon as I released the arrow, I would immediately feel my left arm drop and wobble uncontrollably.  Tony had spoken about how your shoulders should form a continuous circle of balance and power with the bow so, perhaps overthinking it, I assumed that by breaking that circle – releasing the arrow – I’d be weakening it and it would crumble.

The other issue I had was more physical.  I’m told that the Amazons used to cut off their left breasts to enable them to use a bow and arrow more efficiently.  How true this is I’ve no idea, but thankfully, in my case at least, all it required was a slight change of stance to rectify the issue.  Breasts out of the way, I was at last given my first arrow.  I did at least manage to get the first shot onto the target board, if outside the scoring target.  Yes, even from just five yards.  The second shot is still I believe, buried in the ground somewhere, so apologies again, Tony.

After 10 or so minutes of alternately watching me shoot and tinkering with my technique, Tony decided to push back my target to a full 20 yards – almost the length of a cricket pitch.  The extra distance made it somehow easier and I was getting into a good rhythm.  It was then that Hollie decided that she wanted to get a shot of the arrow being released from the bow, which lead to me attempt to try to countdown from three to one during my set-up and release.  After several minutes of this, the result of which was that my accuracy was falling apart and my discipline and technique had gone out of the window, I felt I’d better shelve the countdown idea, lest Tony think I was failing to take his instruction seriously. 

However, just as I was trying to get my head back around my technique, I forgot one of the most important parts; keeping my arm out of line with the trajectory of arrow and string upon release.  That was when I felt the dreaded Archer’s Kiss.  The bracer was still on and where it should be but my elbow had turned so that the elbow itself was facing down to the ground and the right hand side of my elbow and lower arm, unprotected by the bracer, were pointing inwards...yep, I can’t say that didn’t sting.  After a few minutes of jumping around like Tigger dying for the loo, I regained a little composure and tried again.  Wary now of catching myself a second time, I was more tentative.  I wasn’t pulling back the bow as much and so everything was now falling below the scoring circle. 

Tony reassured me by telling me that as long as I kept my arm braced and slightly bent, with my elbow pointing out to the left rather than towards the ground, I’d be fine.  I gradually regained my nerve and after a little while, got my first arrow inside the gold!  I’m afraid that at this point, I did start screaming and doing a little dance before Tony explained to me, the edges of his mouth twitching, that it’s not quite the done thing to celebrate in such a way.  Fair enough really.  My dancing’s atrocious.  Bolstered by this though and by Tony’s positive comments, I felt up to a challenge.

He said that I looked good and had a “good style” and at this point, he said he’d give me a 7/10.  My grouping was also fairly consistent so I was feeling confident.  The challenge he gave me was to get all six arrows inside the red scoring area.  If I did this, I’d have to total of at least 42 points, and I would’ve passed my second Olympic challenge.

Oh, how sports psychology fascinates me.  I’ve always been amazed that, for example, two people of similar abilities can react so very differently under pressure; one might crumble and choke the other will thrive and succeed beyond anything they’ve achieved before.  I wouldn’t say I choked completely, but when my very first arrow of the challenge fell into the blue, where before I’d been landing them fairly consistently in the red, I did feel like I might have succumbed.  Knowing I’d already failed the challenge, my shoulders did drop a little and I felt my technique slipping as frustration and desperation set in.  The second arrow also fell in the blue but I was determined not to make a total hash out of it and to at least end well.  I took a few deep breaths, refocused and tried to clear my mind.  The third was a little better, clipping the edge of the red but the fourth and fifth landed in almost exactly the same spot in the gold!  Buoyed and desperate to end with a hat trick of golds, I may have tried a little too hard with the sixth and final arrow, but I managed to get it comfortably in the red.  Overall, I was disappointed not to have succeeded but relatively pleased with my efforts. 

Tony however, perhaps taking pity on me, explained that in actual fact I had passed on points as, although I’d fired two arrows outside of the red, thanks to my two golds, my points total was 42!  Well, it’s not a comprehensive victory but hell, I’ll take it.

Afterwards, I asked Tony, who’s a member of the Bayeux Bowmen based in Catsfield, about archery and who could take it up.  Was it open to everyone?

“As long as they can hold a bow, they can do archery.  We’ve got kids from the ages of 11-12 right upto a 90 year old.” 

But is it expensive?  “The recurve you were using was about £1,000 but you can get a basic bow for about £100 and arrows from about £4 each.  We run beginners’ courses consisting of 12 hours over six weeks for £35, and that includes a diploma allowing you to shoot, which is valid at any archery club in the country.”

What about the social side?  “There’s a terrific social side.  We had a shoot followed by hot-dogs with many of the members here just the other night.”  No beer though presumably; alcohol and arrows must be a big no-no, surely!  “We have a drink!  Especially the longbowmen.  We often carry a hipflask around when we’re outside shooting all day, but the longbowmen are quite famous for being tiddled by the end of a competition!”

Well I never!  I suppose if you’re all shooting in the same direction and there’s nobody there, it doesn’t really matter how many targets you can see.  I’m beginning to warm to archery more and more.  However, my personal target is Rio, and I can’t see the uber-focused South Koreans sipping brandy between ends.  What did Tony think of my efforts, first of all?

“I was impressed actually.  You looked good, had a good style and a decent technique.  And your grouping was very good.  A lot of people after the six-week course still can’t hit the gold, and you did that three times in just an hour and a half, so well done.  Overall, I’d say you’ve earnt 8/10.”

Well, that certainly made me smile!  I really enjoyed my session with Tony and the feeling of picking up the bow and aiming was as amazing as I’d imagined beforehand.  I was delighted with his comments and so pleased that I’d impressed him.  However, before I get too smug and full of myself, I must remind myself, more than anyone else, that I was shooting at a target a mere 20 yards away.  Olympic archers are aiming at 72 metres.  Quite a significant jump up.  So how does Tony think I’d get on in my quest for a place in Team GB’s 2016 Archery squad?

“Well...it’s tough.  You have to travel the length and breadth of the country competing in tournaments and winning to get noticed.  Then you make the jump to Archer 1^st Class to Master Bowman, Grandmaster Bowman, White Rose, Red Rose...and then it all helps if you know which set of cutlery to use at dinner.”

So there’s elitism in the sport?  “Yes, I’m afraid so at the top level.  That’s not to say you definitely couldn’t do it though...it’d just be very difficult.”

Well ‘difficult’ doesn’t mean impossible, so I’m not calling a halt on my archery dream just yet.  But it was a genuinely lovely way to spend an hour or so – out in the country, chatting, laughing, being fed chocolate by Tony and perhaps reconnecting in some way with longbow-wielding ancestors – so Rio or not, archery is certainly something I intend to have another crack at.  And so should you.

If you are interested in taking up archery and you happen to be in the Hastings area, then here’s the link to the website for the Bayeux Bowmen:

 http://www.bayeuxbowmen.co.uk/

If you’re from slightly further afield, here’s site for Archery GB:

http://www.archerygb.org/

Or, if you’re abroad, try World Archery:

http://www.archery.org/

So, for now at least, I leave the world of archery and the delightful Tony Tutt behind, as I step forward towards my next challenge...Fencing.  Yes, if you thought the idea of me wielding a bow and arrow was terrifying, I’m now going to get my hands on a sword.  I can’t wait!  Kayaking – nearly drowned.  Archery – nearly shot myself.  Fencing - ...  Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.

Pip pip.