A 17th-century pitch unearthed in rural Kirkcudbrightshire is fuelling claims that Scotland—not England—gave the world the beautiful game. English traditionalists are unimpressed.
Archaeological Find in Anwoth Challenges Long-Held Beliefs
For over a century, England has worn the crown as the birthplace of modern football. But a new discovery on the grounds of a former Scottish church has sparked a historical turf war.
A team led by Ged O’Brien, founder of the Scottish Football Museum, claims to have located the world’s oldest known soccer pitch in the sleepy town of Anwoth. The rectangular site, unearthed on what used to be Mossrobin Farm, is believed to date back to the early 1600s.
It was here, according to written records, that parishioners played “foot-ball” on Sabbath afternoons—until a furious Presbyterian minister tried to put a stop to it.
“This is not mob football,” O’Brien said. “This is organized, recurring, communal football. It has structure. It has space. It has history. And it’s Scottish.”
‘No Ball Games’ — 17th Century Style
The first clue emerged from a letter written by Reverend Samuel Rutherford, who served as pastor at Anwoth Old Kirk from 1627 to 1638. In it, he condemned locals for choosing football over worship.
To end the practice, Rutherford ordered a line of stones to be laid across the playing field—essentially a primitive ‘No Ball Games’ barrier.
Ged O’Brien and archaeologists from Archaeology Scotland located those very stones, now partially buried in what is today a deer field. Fourteen boulders in a neat line, cutting across a 280-by-147-foot flat expanse—just shy of a modern American football field in size.
Key Details From the Discovery
| Feature | Description |
|---|---|
| Location | Mossrobin Farm, Anwoth, Kirkcudbrightshire |
| Size of Pitch | 280 ft x 147 ft |
| Historical Evidence | Letter from Rev. Samuel Rutherford |
| Age Estimate | c. 1627–1638 |
| Distinctive Feature | Stone barrier to stop Sunday play |
Archaeologists confirmed that the stone row is not agricultural in nature. “It’s not a boundary, not for livestock, and not part of cropland,” said Kieran Manchip of Archaeology Scotland. “It sits loosely on the topsoil, which aligns with 17th-century layering. It was placed deliberately.”
England’s Response? Raised Eyebrows and Doubts
The claim has provoked considerable pushback—especially from across the border.
Steve Wood, a trustee at Sheffield Home of Football, dismissed the idea that the Mossrobin site could be directly connected to the invention of the modern game. “We don’t know what was being played there,” he said. “There’s no documented link to association football. This may well be just another type of foot-ball.”
To some, O’Brien’s theory sounds like nationalist revisionism. To others, it’s long overdue redress.
England’s version of football history begins in 1863 with the founding of the Football Association (FA) in London. Before that, ‘mob football’—a chaotic and often violent melee involving hundreds of players and few rules—dominated village games.
By contrast, O’Brien insists the Scottish game was refined, scheduled and regulated far earlier than assumed.
Sunday Games, Monday Work
One detail bolstering O’Brien’s argument: the Sabbath.
Matches were held every Sunday, he says—but players still had to work on Monday. That meant the game couldn’t be too brutal. “If you got injured, you didn’t eat,” he said. “It was structured and civil because it had to be.”
Three short facts:
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Written evidence proves regular Sunday football at Mossrobin in the 1620s
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The pitch was clearly demarcated and obstructed with stones
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Archaeologists say no other known site from this era resembles its layout
To O’Brien, that’s more than enough to challenge the status quo.
A Cultural Grievance Surfaces
This isn’t just about who kicked the first ball.
To O’Brien, this is about historical justice. He argues that Scotland’s contributions to the origins of football have been deliberately overlooked—part of a broader pattern of English cultural dominance.
“If you’re trying to gaslight an entire nation into believing it’s too poor, too wee and too stupid,” he said pointedly, “you erase the brilliance of its past.”
His critics call that hyperbole. But among Scots, the sentiment resonates.
The stone barrier, O’Brien says, is more than a relic. It’s a symbol. “It tells us football was organised, respected, and widely played in Scottish communities long before the FA ever existed.”
History, Politics and Sport Collide Again
This wouldn’t be the first time sport and national identity have clashed in Britain.
The location of football’s origins has become a political talking point—especially in Scotland, where constitutional debates over independence, national identity, and cultural sovereignty remain hotly contested.
O’Brien’s discovery lands squarely in that context. It’s not just a challenge to England’s football heritage—it’s a challenge to who controls the story of the United Kingdom’s past.
