The bowling green at Taversend occupied the yard behind a disused cooperage. It was not quite rectangular. One corner followed the line of an older boundary wall, while the opposite side narrowed beside a loading door that remained in use. Visiting players usually walked the perimeter before agreeing that a game could be played there.
The members' labour mattered more than the site's irregular outline. They sifted soil, repaired thin patches and kept a heavy roller under a lean-to roof. The best turf lay in the middle, where careful watering had made the surface more reliable than the ground from which it had been assembled.
Horace Werr, the cooperage owner, permitted play but refused an extension towards the door. A barrel needed space to turn, he explained, whether or not the building was making many barrels that year. The club responded by setting a permanent marker at the narrow corner. A boundary that could not be moved could at least be made unmistakable.
Competitions were arranged around the peculiar ground. Ends were played from nominated positions, and a bowl crossing the marked corner was treated consistently. Familiarity provided an advantage, but members regarded learning the surface as part of the sport. Visitors were offered practice rather than a different set of dimensions.
When the loading door finally closed for good, the club could have gained the disputed yard. It chose to retain the existing line and used the released space for a bench. The ground had acquired an identity through its limitation. Removing the practical reason for the boundary did not remove the habits built around it.