Club History
The First Ten Years of Bearsted & Thurnham Bowls Club
There was nothing inevitable about Bearsted & Thurnham Bowls Club. That is perhaps the most important thing to understand about its first ten years.
The green that members step onto today, smooth and familiar, bordered by hedges and memories, was never guaranteed. It was not gifted, not pre-planned, and not easily won. It exists because, at a particular moment in the late 1970s, a small group of people looked at an unremarkable piece of land and imagined something better — and then refused to let that idea go.
In 1977, when Bearsted Parish Council acquired land near the Church Landway, it was simply part of the slow reshaping of a growing village. Housing was expanding. The population was changing. Yet beneath those surface developments lay a quieter concern: where, exactly, did people meet anymore? Where did neighbours become friends, and friends become a community?
Bowls, with its unhurried pace and social instinct, offered an answer. Not an obvious one, perhaps, but a compelling one. Early discussions, informal at first and then increasingly structured, revealed what many already suspected — there was genuine demand for a bowls club, and not just from experienced players. What people wanted was somewhere to belong.
Support at parish level mattered, and in Dr Alston, then Chairman of Bearsted Parish Council, the idea found a crucial ally. He understood that a bowls club was not simply about sport. It was about inclusion, routine, companionship and continuity. His backing did not remove the obstacles ahead, but it made them negotiable rather than insurmountable.
The years that followed were slow, methodical, and at times frustrating. There were no dramatic breakthroughs, no sudden moments when everything fell into place. Instead, progress was made inch by inch, meeting by meeting, letter by letter. Committees were formed, reformed and refined. Plans were drafted and redrafted. Funding was discussed with care, because there was very little room for error.
It was during this period that J.M.E. Ravenscroft emerged as a central figure, though “figure” hardly does justice to the scale of his involvement. He was not simply a chairman or organiser; he was the person who seemed to hold the whole endeavour together when it threatened to unravel. He negotiated loans when finances were tight, chaired meetings when opinions differed, and maintained momentum when patience wore thin. His leadership was practical rather than rhetorical. Things moved forward because he made sure they did.
The identification of the Tennis Club pavilion as a potential social base was one of those quietly decisive moments that only reveal their importance in hindsight. At the time, it was a pragmatic solution — a place to meet, to change, to gather. Later, it would become something more: the social heart of a club still finding its feet.
By the early 1980s, the project finally crossed an invisible threshold. Planning gave way to action. Funds, scraped together through grants, loans and relentless fundraising, were committed. Work began on the land itself.
This was where idealism met reality.
Creating a bowls green is an exacting business, and Bearsted & Thurnham had no army of experts waiting in the wings. Drainage proved stubborn. Levels refused to behave as hoped. Water pressure, a problem that would haunt the club for years, made even basic maintenance a challenge. Volunteers learned quickly that enthusiasm alone does not move soil or tame water.
And yet they persisted.
Members dug, levelled, trenched and seeded. They learned from mistakes, adapted, tried again. What might have discouraged a less determined group instead forged a sense of shared ownership. This was not someone else’s facility. It was theirs, built with their own hands, shaped by their own decisions.
In 1982, bowls were finally rolled in earnest. The club formally came into existence, and membership grew faster than expected. People came not only to play, but to be part of something that felt rooted and real. Subscriptions were deliberately kept affordable, a reflection of the club’s founding belief that accessibility mattered more than prestige.
Those early seasons were imperfect, and nobody pretended otherwise. The green demanded constant attention. Water had to be applied at awkward hours. Drainage needed monitoring. Equipment required care. But there was joy too — in the first matches played, the first competitions organised, the first small signs that the club might actually endure.
Administration became increasingly important, and in Mrs V. A. Braga and Mr E. Braga, the club found steady hands. In an era before digital convenience, fixtures, correspondence and finances were handled with meticulous care. Their work was not glamorous, but it was essential. Without it, growth would have been chaotic rather than controlled.
As the club settled into the mid-1980s, its character became clearer. Competitive bowling developed naturally, with internal competitions and league fixtures adding structure and purpose. Standards of play improved, helped by an atmosphere that encouraged learning rather than judgement.
At the same time, the social life of the club flourished. Events filled the calendar, not as distractions from bowling, but as extensions of it. Dinners, dances and barbecues turned teammates into friends and acquaintances into regulars. The pavilion, under the watchful care of Pat Laws, became a place people wanted to linger. It was warm, welcoming, and unmistakably communal.
Behind the scenes, practical challenges never entirely went away. Water pressure issues persisted. Drainage required ongoing attention. It was here that the quiet problem-solvers came into their own. Members like Bernard Goodman and George Baseby applied ingenuity where resources were limited, ensuring that the green remained playable even when conditions conspired against it.
Equally vital were those who ensured continuity. Vera Banner, through committee work and green supervision, embodied the steady volunteer presence that keeps any club functioning. Her contribution was measured not in single achievements, but in consistency — the ability to turn up, week after week, and make sure things were done properly.
By the time the club approached its tenth anniversary, it had passed its most fragile stage. Membership was healthy. Competitions were established. The pavilion was well used. More importantly, the club had become woven into village life. It no longer needed to justify its existence. It simply belonged.
Looking back now, what stands out is not speed or ease, but resilience. The first ten years were not smooth, and they were never simple. Progress was earned, often slowly, through cooperation and patience. The club survived because people believed it mattered, and because they were willing to do the unglamorous work required to make it last.
The green that exists today is the visible legacy of that effort. Less visible, but far more important, is the culture that was established alongside it — one of shared responsibility, quiet generosity and enduring community spirit.
That, more than any trophy or result, is the true inheritance of the club’s first decade.
The Pavilion has undergone extensions and refurbishment of internal facilities over the years. During the winter of 2004/2005, the Pavilion was widened and fitted with “wide-view” picture windows in order to gain maximum advantage of its elevated position over the green. Internal ventilation has been improved and the viewing of matches for spectators seated in the Pavilion is much enhanced. New lighting, heating and furnishings have been purchased to provide for more room and comfort for members and visitors. Improved and extended changing accommodation for ladies and men is currently being planned.
During the winter of 2013/14 the Club secured funding from several organisations including , Bowls England, Biffa Awards and Sport England, to install a new synthetic bowling surface.
