All the struggles just to watch the most boring game in history
The
beginning of 1963 witnessed heavy snow and freezing conditions since the worst
of all winters which was in 1947. I recall the 1947 winter vividly with snow on
the ground for four months. It was just as bad in 1963 but nothing on quite the
same scale.
Wales and
England was only played at Cardiff Arms Park in the January because some 15
tons of straw had covered the playing field for quite a while to protect it
from the snow and the severe frost. In
the final days of 1962 a severe blizzard had spread throughout south Wales.)
In the hours before the game dozens of
volunteers helped to clear the straw just beyond the touchlines. It was said
that the temperature was minus 6 degrees during the game. Wales
lost 13 -6 in a game that was the only sporting event that took place in the UK
on that day. In truth it should not have been played, parts of the playing
surface were frozen and the referee tried to get the game called off, but there
were some 55,000 in the ground.
I was there
being a rugby fanatic and a student at Cardiff University.
A fortnight
later, February 2nd, Wales was due to meet Scotland at Murrayfield.
The weather was still bad – snow and frost – but the pitch had an underground
heating system so there would be no doubt about whether the game would go on.
In any event
along with a few of my student friends I was sat in the common room of what was
known as the new Arts block of the University. Somehow the topic of the game in
Scotland came up and more surprisingly the conversation about going to see the
game came up. This was the Thursday afternoon.
Anyway it
ended with a bet between me and William ‘Nash’ Bevan, a school mate from
Gwendraeth Grammar days as well. The bet was who had the courage to thumb it to
Edinburgh. Matters got out of hand and both of us foolishly agreed to meet at
4.30 that afternoon outside Cardiff castle and go from there.
I remember
going to my digs in Grangetown to collect some stuff, all the while desperately
hoping that ‘Nash’ would not be there by the castle. My heart sank – he was.
So off we
went along Queen Street and then on to Newport Road trying to catch a lift.
Eventually a jeep stopped with an open back. We sat there until Birmingham,
desperately cold. When we were dropped off in the centre of the city the first
thing we did was to go into a telephone kiosk to plan what to do next, but more
importantly warm up. Why a kiosk and not a cafe or pub – don’t ask me!
By now it
was around eight in the evening so off we went again and this time got a lift
from a lorry. I am not sure which way we went – was it towards the North West
or the North East of England. In any event around eight in the morning we were
dropped off not too far from the Scottish border. We came across a pub, and
went in, explained to the landlord what had happened and he was kind enough to
let us wash etc and also cooked us a breakfast. We stayed there a while to
recover and warm up.
As we were
about to leave a man came in for a break and it turned out he too was going to
Edinburgh so he offered us a lift in his rather big car I seem to recall.
By mid
afternoon we were in Edinburgh. Now came the decision what were we going to do
about accommodation for the Friday night. But first we took a stroll along Princes
Street. Then to my surprise we came across a group of Tumble RFC players and
got chatting and going to a pub with them. (In the 1962/63 rugby season I was
playing for them every Saturday – travelling back home from Cardiff on the
Friday night each time).
When they
found out what we had done they thought we were nuts and in any case just asked
me ‘why didn’t you come up with us on the bus?’ I explained all this was a spur
of the moment decision with no thought given to the implications.
One fortuitous
thing happened. They said you can stay in our hotel. The management won’t know
because half of us won’t be back in the hotel until the morning. So it turned out. When we were having
breakfast on the Saturday morning in came about ten of them from their ‘night
out’.
They also
suggested we could travel back with them, but that was not going to be until
the Tuesday, so again we foolishly declined.
So on to the
game on a bitterly cold day. Two spare tickets had been given to us by the
players.
What a game!
There had been nothing like it before or since. In fact the rules on kicking
straight to touch was changed as a result. There were 111 lineouts. It was a
war of attrition between two sets of forwards. Clive Rowlands (nicknamed ‘Top
Cat’) did not pass once to David Watkins the outside half – he just kicked to touch
from every scrum and lineout. He set out to win, as Wales had not won in
Murrayfield for over a decade, and in that he achieved his aim. Wales won 6-0.
We had
already decided to start on our way back after the game. This time we would go
via Glasgow. The snow was starting to fall as well. We picked up a lift pretty
soon after starting from Edinburgh and reached the outskirts of Gretna Green. I
just recall us hanging around in a bus stop shelter for quite some time. Snow
falling and being bitterly cold.
The journey
back to South Wales is vague in my memory now except arriving in Newport mid
Sunday afternoon. But the irony was ‘Nash’ and I were so tired and cold we
caught a train to Cardiff!
So there we
go, not quite as described by Max Boyce in one of his famous songs The Scottish Trip