Give It Some Welly!

On 2 November, Welly Ball once again took St Andrews by storm. Since 2007, the annual dinner and afterparty have generated huge excitement both at St Andrews and at other UK universities across the UK, whose students fight for tickets, all charmed by its simple premise: just come in wellies. 

Welly is a charity enterprise, and thanks to its huge appeal amongst the student body, has raised over £260,000 since its establishment for charity. Its cause, the Charlie Waller Trust, aids adults with mental health issues, destigmatises them, and improves GP training in Scotland for mental health. With its 2,000 combined dinner and afterparty guests, Welly can — and certainly has — made a difference.

On the night itself, I rocked up to Madras, very quickly able to board a bus in spite of the huge queue. Sitting down, I found myself next to a blonde-curtained, tuxedo-wearing postgrad, whose immediate question was, “Have you ever tried clay shooting?” Upon asking what he studied, I was unsurprised to learn that it was finance. I didn’t need reminding that I was on the way to Welly Ball. 

Upon disembarking, Falside Mill itself looked, as ever, stunning. Fairy lights glittered in every corner, spreading warm lighting across its halls. I was sad not to be able to see the ocean as with daytime events such as May Ball, but the intimate nighttime atmosphere made the venue resemble a secret grotto. For those who attended the dinner, a huge board displayed the seating arrangements, framed by bouquets. It was certainly a classy affair, which was in order given the ticket price. Attendees chugged prosecco straight from the bottle, sourced from a ‘prosecco tuk tuk’ (not something I had ever heard of, but then again, I didn’t go to Eton). Others drank straight from wellies in ritualistic chanting. Unfortunately, anyone hoping for some muddy puddles to splash in was out of luck, but somehow my Barnardo’s-sourced heeled ‘wellies’ purchased an hour prior to the event still came home looking pretty dirty. 

The dance floor in the main room was totally stacked, with an excited buzz on account of the usual thumping bass and soundtrack from Abba to Azaelia Banks. Red light seared across the room, with a tuxedoed DJ spinning decks beneath a disco ball. If one huge, crowded floor wasn’t enough for you, by turning out the side door and into the large tent area, another quickly made itself apparent. Bars on almost every wall meant it was efficient to grab a drink and continue on your way. Amidst the endless flow of little black dresses, Hunter boots, and bow ties, it was easy to lose track of friends, but another familiar face was never far from sight. 

It’s an inexplicable phenomenon, but a whole host of ‘rah’-esque people, never seeming to grace the streets of St Andrews, emerge from wherever they hide for Welly and anything Kate Kennedy adjacent. This rare breed is easily identified by their schoeffels and cummerbunds. My principal complaint about the event — which has nothing to do with its organisers — concerns the decorum of these guests, whose shouting, shoving, and general lack of awareness seemed to confirm all stereotypes about this University. There seems to be a connection between ineptitude to wait in a cloakroom queue for five minutes without skipping ahead and having slightly too much in your savings for your own good. “The amount of times I’ve been walked into by someone with a trust fund,” attendee Kieron Moore began disdainfully, immediately to be almost rugby tackled by another. It’s not to say that this is representative of the majority of the student body, but a little self-reflection might benefit both these attendees and the University’s representation. 

The prices for Welly are not inconsiderable. With a £45 afterparty price, on top of drinks (a double being £12), expenses were, as ever, pretty jaw-dropping. The usual Screaming Peacock burger truck was, amongst others, there to sober up attendees with deluxe munch. It’s certainly expensive, but of all the balls, Welly is arguably the most unique of St Andrews’ offerings and must be attended at least once if you’re choosing one to fork out on.

Is it all a little overly decadent? Of course. People at these events are always slightly embarrassed to be there reenacting something straight from Saltburn (myself included) but having fun nonetheless. Brunching at Northpoint the next morning, bedraggled Wellygoers were ubiquitous, hoodie-clad, and clutching Lost Marys but still donning smiles on their faces, undoubtedly recounting the previous night’s escapades. Without a doubt, thanks to the organisers, all in attendance had certainly given it some welly.

Photo: Alex Barnard