MANNERS & MORALS: Ancient Sport

The rig looked like a gibbet, nailed to the white railing fence of the newly opened Branchdale Racing Park near Holly Hill. A noose dangled from it, well out over the dirt track. Few of the well-dressed South Carolinians in the cars lining the rail were old enough to recognize it. It was a truss for goose pulling.

Four horse races had been run off smoothly when the announcement came: there would be a special added attraction. As the 1,100 spectators watched, a goose was hung by the feet from the gibbet. It hung limp, its wings free, its long, greased neck dangling. Out onto the track rode four gentlemen riders on muleback, dressed in breeches, boots and gaily colored shirts.

The idea was simple. The riders would try to jerk the head off the goose’s neck.

One by one they galloped under the goose, right hand outstretched. Groping fingers slithered down the goose’s neck. Feathers flew. The goose set up a frenzied honking.

All the riders failed. The second pass was even less successful. The goose had pulled its neck up as far as it could. The honking, the frantic beating of its wings made the mules skittish. Two riders missed completely. But the third was not to be foiled by a goose, rules or no rules. He trotted up to the gibbet, stopped, worked his mule under the goose, and grabbed. His pull nearly lifted him off the mule’s back.

The goose flapped desperately, then more feebly. At last, the rider let go.

The crowd yelled: “Let the Champ try!” “The Champ,” the fourth rider, tried. He gave the now lolling head a tremendous jerk. But bone and sinew held.

That ended it. The four gentlemen riders had had enough sport. The goose, a limp mass of crumpled feathers, was taken down. In the crowd, some cheered, some laughed, some looked grim. South Carolina’s ancient sport of goose pulling had been revived.