It all began in 1931, when two friends – Denis Allen from Gorey, Co Wexford, and JJ Bergin from Athy, Co Kildare were arguing over which county had the better ploughmen? And so, the National Ploughing Championships was born in a field outside Athy, Co Kildare.
Today, it’s the ultimate festival of farming with the occasional funny mishap.
We asked our readers for their favourite Ploughing stories – and they didn’t disappoint!
Field of jeeps
My first Ploughing was a real baptism of fire – or, well, sunshine, actually. I’d made the trek from the west to Ratheniska in Laois, not having a clue what I was letting myself in for. Total townie, wide-eyed and overwhelmed.
The size of the place nearly knocked me over. It just went on and on, tractors, crowds, chip vans, country music blaring from every second tent. But the vibe? Pure magic. Everyone was in great form, all hearty handshakes and “how’s she cutting?”
A rare bit of September sun made the whole thing feel like some kind of rural utopia – though I’m told the muck-fest is more traditional.
All was grand until it came time to leave. My sense of direction is questionable at the best of times, so trying to find the car in a sea of identical fields and silver SUVs was quite the challenge. There I was, marching from row to row, zapping my key fob like a woman possessed, just hoping something would beep back at me.
Thankfully, a lovely steward took pity on me – clearly not his first rodeo dealing with flustered eejits – and eventually helped me track it down. A stressful end to a brilliant day, but I survived.
– Louise, Galway
Giving it wellie
I’ll never forget the year the wellies turned against me at the Ploughing. It was 2018 and it rained cats, dogs, and probably a few sheep for three days solid. The whole place was pure muck, like walking through a giant bowl of stew.
There I was, living my best life at the machinery demo. Tea in one hand, breakfast roll in the other, the holy trinity of Ploughing survival. Next thing I know, I take a step and squelch – my left wellie disappeared straight into the muck. Gone without a trace.
The rest of the lads are doubled over laughing and I had to yank the boot out with both hands, and the sound it made? It was like a cow in labour. I’ve learned my lesson to always have an extra pair of socks in the car.
– Jamie, Kilkenny
Sinking feeling
I thought I’d be glam at the Ploughing – I’d just started seeing this lad, mad into farming, so naturally I thought I’d make a bit of an effort. I rocked up in a cream coat, skinny jeans, and ankle boots that I thought could handle a bit of muck. It was my first Ploughing and I realise now I was a bit naive.
Within 10 minutes I’d basically sunk halfway to Offaly. A lad in a hi-vis had to pull me out. Mortified isn’t the word.
The cream coat was ruined and the weather wasn’t helping – sideways rain, hair plastered to my face, mascara all over the place.
Himself was in bits laughing and the great romance didn’t last. Although it was my first Ploughing, it wasn’t my last but now I have the waterproofs and wellies.
– Emma, Dublin
Bailey Carroll from Nurney, Co Kildare playing in a muddy puddle at the National Ploughing Championships in 2023. \ Claire Nash
Curry chips please!
A few years ago at the Ploughing, I fancied a bag of chips, so off I went on what I thought would be a quick 10-minute mission.
Fast-forward nearly two hours, and I’d somehow wandered into what felt like a whole different parish – somewhere between a fella showing off chainsaws and a woman doing fierce business with magical cleaning cloths.
I did make it back in the end – chips were stone cold, of course – but my wife barely realised I was gone. She was immersed in a Neven Maguire cookery demonstration and didn’t give me a second moments thought.
– Seán, Longford
National Ploughing Championships – a look back through the decades
Through the decades, we trace the defining moments that have turned the Ploughing Championships into a beloved cultural phenomenon, celebrating tradition.
1930s
And we’re off: the very first championships was held in Athy, Co Kildare in 1931. It quickly became a fixture on the rural calendar, celebrating the skill of ploughmen.
1940s–1950s
The golden era of horse ploughing: beautifully turned furrows with heavy horses were the pride of Irish farming. The contest began drawing bigger crowds as tractors slowly appeared alongside horses. The presence of President Sean T. O’Kelly elevated the importance of the event.
1960s–1970s
Expansion years: more counties hosted, giving rural Ireland a shared sense of ownership. There’s international pride as Irish competitors attend world contests. Tractor ploughing became dominant, but horse classes still popular.
1980s
Livestock come to the show: the event started to take on more of a festival atmosphere, with music, stalls, and trade stands. The livestock section broadened the appeal for farmers and it became a three-day event.
1990s
Ploughing went international: Irish winners at world contests raised the profile at home. Growing recognition from politicians and media coverage turned it into a national showcase.
2000s
Record-breaking crowds: a quarter of a million people attended the event.
Farm machinery exhibitions grew into one of the largest in Europe. Presidential visits continued to highlight its importance.
The ‘weather’ years: some of the muddiest championships, but the fun never stopped. Guinness World Records were broken with everything from the biggest line dance to mass welly tossing.
2020–2021
Cancelled: the championships were cancelled due to COVID-19.
2022–Present
The grand comeback: huge crowds returned in celebration, proving the Ploughing is more than an event – it’s part of Ireland’s identity. Showcases now balance traditional horse ploughing with drones, agri-tech, and sustainability hubs, blending old and new.
It all began in 1931, when two friends – Denis Allen from Gorey, Co Wexford, and JJ Bergin from Athy, Co Kildare were arguing over which county had the better ploughmen? And so, the National Ploughing Championships was born in a field outside Athy, Co Kildare.
Today, it’s the ultimate festival of farming with the occasional funny mishap.
We asked our readers for their favourite Ploughing stories – and they didn’t disappoint!
Field of jeeps
My first Ploughing was a real baptism of fire – or, well, sunshine, actually. I’d made the trek from the west to Ratheniska in Laois, not having a clue what I was letting myself in for. Total townie, wide-eyed and overwhelmed.
The size of the place nearly knocked me over. It just went on and on, tractors, crowds, chip vans, country music blaring from every second tent. But the vibe? Pure magic. Everyone was in great form, all hearty handshakes and “how’s she cutting?”
A rare bit of September sun made the whole thing feel like some kind of rural utopia – though I’m told the muck-fest is more traditional.
All was grand until it came time to leave. My sense of direction is questionable at the best of times, so trying to find the car in a sea of identical fields and silver SUVs was quite the challenge. There I was, marching from row to row, zapping my key fob like a woman possessed, just hoping something would beep back at me.
Thankfully, a lovely steward took pity on me – clearly not his first rodeo dealing with flustered eejits – and eventually helped me track it down. A stressful end to a brilliant day, but I survived.
– Louise, Galway
Giving it wellie
I’ll never forget the year the wellies turned against me at the Ploughing. It was 2018 and it rained cats, dogs, and probably a few sheep for three days solid. The whole place was pure muck, like walking through a giant bowl of stew.
There I was, living my best life at the machinery demo. Tea in one hand, breakfast roll in the other, the holy trinity of Ploughing survival. Next thing I know, I take a step and squelch – my left wellie disappeared straight into the muck. Gone without a trace.
The rest of the lads are doubled over laughing and I had to yank the boot out with both hands, and the sound it made? It was like a cow in labour. I’ve learned my lesson to always have an extra pair of socks in the car.
– Jamie, Kilkenny
Sinking feeling
I thought I’d be glam at the Ploughing – I’d just started seeing this lad, mad into farming, so naturally I thought I’d make a bit of an effort. I rocked up in a cream coat, skinny jeans, and ankle boots that I thought could handle a bit of muck. It was my first Ploughing and I realise now I was a bit naive.
Within 10 minutes I’d basically sunk halfway to Offaly. A lad in a hi-vis had to pull me out. Mortified isn’t the word.
The cream coat was ruined and the weather wasn’t helping – sideways rain, hair plastered to my face, mascara all over the place.
Himself was in bits laughing and the great romance didn’t last. Although it was my first Ploughing, it wasn’t my last but now I have the waterproofs and wellies.
– Emma, Dublin
Bailey Carroll from Nurney, Co Kildare playing in a muddy puddle at the National Ploughing Championships in 2023. \ Claire Nash
Curry chips please!
A few years ago at the Ploughing, I fancied a bag of chips, so off I went on what I thought would be a quick 10-minute mission.
Fast-forward nearly two hours, and I’d somehow wandered into what felt like a whole different parish – somewhere between a fella showing off chainsaws and a woman doing fierce business with magical cleaning cloths.
I did make it back in the end – chips were stone cold, of course – but my wife barely realised I was gone. She was immersed in a Neven Maguire cookery demonstration and didn’t give me a second moments thought.
– Seán, Longford
National Ploughing Championships – a look back through the decades
Through the decades, we trace the defining moments that have turned the Ploughing Championships into a beloved cultural phenomenon, celebrating tradition.
1930s
And we’re off: the very first championships was held in Athy, Co Kildare in 1931. It quickly became a fixture on the rural calendar, celebrating the skill of ploughmen.
1940s–1950s
The golden era of horse ploughing: beautifully turned furrows with heavy horses were the pride of Irish farming. The contest began drawing bigger crowds as tractors slowly appeared alongside horses. The presence of President Sean T. O’Kelly elevated the importance of the event.
1960s–1970s
Expansion years: more counties hosted, giving rural Ireland a shared sense of ownership. There’s international pride as Irish competitors attend world contests. Tractor ploughing became dominant, but horse classes still popular.
1980s
Livestock come to the show: the event started to take on more of a festival atmosphere, with music, stalls, and trade stands. The livestock section broadened the appeal for farmers and it became a three-day event.
1990s
Ploughing went international: Irish winners at world contests raised the profile at home. Growing recognition from politicians and media coverage turned it into a national showcase.
2000s
Record-breaking crowds: a quarter of a million people attended the event.
Farm machinery exhibitions grew into one of the largest in Europe. Presidential visits continued to highlight its importance.
The ‘weather’ years: some of the muddiest championships, but the fun never stopped. Guinness World Records were broken with everything from the biggest line dance to mass welly tossing.
2020–2021
Cancelled: the championships were cancelled due to COVID-19.
2022–Present
The grand comeback: huge crowds returned in celebration, proving the Ploughing is more than an event – it’s part of Ireland’s identity. Showcases now balance traditional horse ploughing with drones, agri-tech, and sustainability hubs, blending old and new.
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