As soon as the ball knocks over eight pins at the end of the narrow lane, bowler Bob Folgering (77) raises his fist in the air cheering. Under the richly decorated ceiling of the basement of Sociëteit de Hereeniging in Deventer, the men of the Houtslopers, one of the many skittles clubs of the society, are doing what they have been doing for years: ‘Kegling and chatting while enjoying a drink.’
But for how long? Recently, few names have been added to the leather-bound book where they keep the scores, birth, marriage and death dates of all bowlers. And that worries the men.
Sociëteit de Hereeniging has been located in the center of Deventer since 1854. With four hundred members, the social club is doing quite well, but they are still actively looking for new, younger members. ‘Otherwise we will turn off the lights here ourselves’, says 61-year-old chair Marijke Kool.
Recruitment of members is ‘a very big issue’ for almost all 35 societies that are affiliated with the Contact Council of Dutch Societies (CNS). The society in Apeldoorn was forced to sell its hair a few years ago pledge. The society in Haarlem decided that their building has become ‘too big’ for them alone and is therefore now looking for a buyer. And at the men’s society in Zwolle, the number of members has decreased so much during corona that women are increasingly welcome and the discussion about women’s membership is back.
relic
In Deventer they realized before the turn of the century that they had to shake off the dusty image, in order to prevent the society, like a relic from the nineteenth century, from becoming a smaller and smaller crowd. gets. After a heated discussion, membership was opened to women in 1996. The obligatory ‘sir’ and ‘madam’ was suspended. And in terms of dress code, only the shorts are still taboo.
The result can be seen in the large hall, where the walls are covered with wallpaper and dark brown wood: it is busy. The three billiard tables are in use, people are leafing through the newspaper under the green reading lamps and behind the glass doors of the former ballroom the singing of a choir of at least fifty people can be heard. Most members drop by several days a week.
The 81-year-old Thea Kokke is playing billiards under the watchful eye of Queen Juliana – her state portrait hangs on the wall. Around her neck hangs a female sign with a fist in it, as a feminism symbol. She once daubed the windows of the society together with the women’s movement in protest, but she has now been a member of the ‘men’s stronghold’ for twenty years. Why? ‘It’s especially nice that you can walk in here casually and meet all kinds of people from your own city,’ she says.
Image problem
However, societies are not always successful in attracting new members. It is partly due to a persistent image problem, says CNS secretary Stokhof. ‘The image of white men with big bellies sitting on a Chesterfield couch smoking cigars is no longer correct.’
In order to recruit more young people – read: people in their fifties and sixties – they try to think more and more outside the beaten track of social life in Deventer. ‘Actually, anything is possible with us if people want to organize something themselves’, says board member José Wieferink. They now regularly organize music or dance evenings.
All activities are ultimately an excuse to get together, says Lex Valk (59) when he briefly interrupts his billiard game. He has been seeing the other members of his billiard club Queues Zat every week for years. ‘We discuss the week and share joys and sorrows.’ And because of this, according to him, ‘something special’ has arisen, which does not stop at the walls of the society. For example, the men will take the boat to Schiermonnikoog next week to play billiards there.
Getting together, having a drink, playing a game, that is of course also possible in a community center or cafe. ‘But it is the membership that binds people’, says chair Marijke Kool. The club therefore still uses a ballot – even if it is mainly symbolic, because if necessary, the board itself collects the signatures for a new member. ‘It ensures that people have the feeling that they belong somewhere.’
Down in the basement, the men of the Houtslopers bowling club also see another value of their membership: social contacts that broaden your view of the world. In normal life, the men – including a pathologist anatomist, a chaplain and someone who was ‘in the concrete’ – probably never met. ‘And now’, says Rob Stegeman (72), ‘we are here every week solving the world’s problems. How nice is that?’