John Parry-Jones - "CRCC Memoirs 1983-1996"

Prologue

Having spent several months writing these recollections, I was promptly asked what the point was. On reflection, there isn’t much point at all. I had played for Clwb with around 150 different players, of whom probably a third were non-welsh speakers, a number of others had long since lost contact with the club, leaving perhaps a third of the initial number who might have some minor interest in that which I had written.

But that isn’t the point. I remember discussing with my father the purpose of writing about a topic which may be of interest to only a minority of people. His response was that as long as the book was of interest to him, then that was sufficient. And that is how these recollections have been for me. Sadly, I’m one of these people who has a precise memory for relatively minor events, and for this reason, many of my days with Clwb had stuck in the memory. I therefore decided it was time to put these thoughts to paper, before they began to disappear. Clwb Rygbi always did, and still does, mean a great deal to me, and I managed to make many longstanding friends during my 15 years involvement with it. So, although there may not be a specific purpose to that which follows, I do hope it will help remind some of my colleagues through the years of some of the events, matches, characters and so forth from years gone by. We very rarely get together these days, and so I hope this will assist in bringing back some of those historic memories.

I’ve tried to be as specific as possible without trying to embarrass anyone during this essay. Some things would have been nice to mention, but on the basis that what goes on tour, stays on tour, I’ve decided to omit some things. Other tales are quite difficult to describe or explain fully, such as Stumpy falling asleep in Brussels, or Dai Lewis’s winding up Garmon at South Glam Institute. Those of you who were there may recall the events – others may need a fertile imagination.

 

In The beginning
The Autumn of 1983 came as a bit of a shock to the system. Having decided to re-sit my A levels, and having moved into a house on Colum Rd with two school friends, the next task was to decide how to enjoy my spare time and keep fit. My two flatmates were already fully fledged members of the Cymric football team, and it was therefore quite a temptation to join with them in that activity. That would have been the simple, conservative choice for a shy 18 year old just out of school, who had no idea what reception he’d receive from a group of men he’d never met. There was no CRICC in those days, and I therefore had no affiliation with any club – my only rugby had been played in school. Although I knew that the Clwb existed, it nevertheless seemed a better idea to join the football boys.
On reflection, however, I changed my mind. I had always played rugby, and it had always brought so much enjoyment and satisfaction. We’d had such a successful final year in Llanhari, and I knew that many of my rugby-playing colleagues would be lifelong friends. I knew full-well that I would regret deciding to play football for no better reason that my mates were footballers, and I was too scared to mix with people I didn’t know.

So, one evening in October 1983, I stepped off the bus at Glantaf school, and as my two flatmates wandered into the footballers changing room, I marched into the men’s room. To my surprise, there were some familiar faces there. Huw Atlantic had left Llanhari some years before me, but I recognised him, and he knew me. Also there was Huw Bristol, one of my ex-teachers in school. The sight of the 2 of them made me feel more at home, and I was conscious and grateful that they kept a fatherly eye over me during that early period.

My primary concern had been that nobody would involve me during any of the training sessions. I should have known better. One of the familiar faces belonged to Dafydd Hywel, the coach at time, who took me under his wing me as if he were welcoming a member of his family. I don’t believe anyone had such a positive impact on the club until Neil Cole arrived about a decade later. Alongside DH, I also received a warm welcome from Butchie, another of those whom I would respect increasingly as the years went by. The only other person who I was introduced to that first night was Charlie, who was introduced as Charles, which I believed was his first name for the next few months.

So there it was. My first training session with Clwb Rygbi was complete, and I had already been given the nickname of “young pup”. Sadly, with the nature of the club, I would be the young pup for many seasons to come. Little did I know that night that I had begun a relationship which would take me into the next century.

We could be heroes…
During the course of the next 15 seasons or so, there were a number of individuals who stood out for one reason or another. Some players were available every Saturday, others were available every Monday and Saturday, and there were those who were quite happy to contribute to the off-field activities. All of these people played their part in the survival of the club. You could say that the same applied to those who only filled a gap once or twice, but it was those who contributed from one season to the next who stood out.

Nowadays, the club has a Captain’s board. All of those whose names appear on the list are doubtless very proud of this acknowledgement. Captaining this club is more than a commitment on the field of play, and involves much preparation work during the week. The most recent captains are achieving a two-season length of service, which is only fair given the associated responsibilities of the role. I was fortunate that my stint as captain co-incided with Butchie’s two year coaching spell, and, as one who had also captained the side, he was more than a helping hand in running the club. As a result, a third term of captaincy was less onerous for me. Taking these factors into consideration, one’s gaze is inevitably drawn towards the name of Wyn Lewis on the captain’s board, who captained for four seasons during the late 70s.

When I joined the club, Wyn’s career was drawing to a close, it appeared. He did, somehow, manage to cling on for another 5 seasons though. Team selection in those days was a pretty straight-forward affair, as Frankie, Brian and Wyn were always available, and were therefore the first names on the sheet. To those of us playing at the time, the names Frankie, Brian and Wyn were as common as Morecambe and Wise, or Marks and Spencer. The three were close friends, very good individuals, and a terrific unit. We would very rarely find ourselves under pressure up front, which was astounding given the lack of weight which was coming from behind the front row. It was testament to each of their respective skills.

Each of the three were different in their styles of play. Frankie had a permanent smile on his face, masking his determination. His presence each week was a lesson to us all, as he travelled down from Crickhowell every Saturday, and often on a Monday.
Brian was a different kettle of fish. You didn’t expect to see a smile on his face on a regular basis. He was a born winner, and woe-betide anyone who stood in the way of his achieving this. I’ll never forget the day down in Baglan, when, having been sent off, he continued his tirade of abuse towards the referee as he trudged back to the changing room. He expected standards from everyone, be they players or referees.

When I was first selected for the first team, still only 18 years of age, I knew that there were some who believed I was too young to be representing the firsts. I suspected Brian was among those who felt this. I remember rising from a scrum where we’d been under extreme pressure, and Brian looked me in the eye and asked if I knew which way I was supposed to be pushing! That’s just how he was on the field, a competitor who wanted to win at all costs.

But Wyn was different again. He was technically an outstanding scrummager, there was no doubt about that, and I learned a lot from him during those early years. We had our traditional strength in depth in the back row, so my early opportunities came in the second row. You can imagine the disappointment Wyn must have felt, knowing that while Frankie was enjoying the aggression, strength and experience of Dafydd Idris behind him, he had a puny teenager leaning on his buttocks. But Wyn had patience, and would regularly spend time with me discussing matches and how we could improve matters.

As a player, Wyn belonged to a different generation. Rugby had progressed to the stage where front row players had to handle and run with the ball. While this was natural progress for Brian and Frankie, for Wyn, it posed a problem. Each Monday night, we’d be sent on a run through the dark streets of Gabalfa, while Wyn would wait patiently for us in Glantaf. His reasoning was that if he ever received the ball in open play, all he intended doing was hit the deck and set up a ruck. The irony was that although this was said in jest, we all knew that if he ever did receive the ball, this was exactly what he would do. The game to him was won and lost in the front row.

After the game came his opportunity to relax with a pint of Brown and Bitter mix. I never met anybody else who drank this. Wyn supported the running of the club for several seasons, whether that be as captain, or in another committee role. While he was chairman of the club, we reached the third round of the Brewers Cup, which saw us pitted against Tregaron. Conveniently, some of the club’s former players had close links with the BBC, and it was agreed that the match should be filmed and shown on Rugby Special, or the equivalent. In the lead up to the report on the game, various interviews were conducted, including one with Wyn in his capacity as club chairman. Given Wyn’s fairly natural Welsh, we might have been advised to elect a different speaker, in particular when he came out with the memorable line, which doesn’t translate, explaining that the match was going to be “twff”.

Wyn’s contribution to the club extended from just rugby, to being one of the founder players of the club’s cricket team. There were a number of extremely talented cricketers around at the time, including more than one wicketkeeper. Someone like Gareth Charles was a natural keeper, who obviously played at a higher level than the Cardiff and District midweek league. Of course there would be occasions when Charlie was unavailable, and on these days, Wyn would be handed the gloves. To be fair, Wyn wasn’t bad, but there was a world of difference between him and Charlie. Charlie would catch the ball tidily, and occasionally whip off the bails in a flash. Wyn, on the other hand, had a good eye for the ball, but would often hold the ball on the second grasp, or as the ball bounced off his chest or pads. Then, when the opportunity arose, instead of whipping off the bails, he’d take out all three stumps while trying to stump someone, and we’d spend another 10 minutes rebuilding the wicket again.

For those of us with recollections of those days, perhaps the fondest memory is that of his appearance. Most of the players were playing regularly at weekends, and were happy to invest in expensive kit. In contrast, Wyn would be there in a pair of flared white jeans, which always had a habit of coming loose from his pads and would flap about as he ran around.

Throughout my first few seasons with the clwb, Wyn was amongst the most prominent characters, and one of the most influential. I learned a lot from him, both from a rugby perspective, but also in relation to the commitment necessary to be a member of a club like this.

By the time I finished playing in 1996, I was one of the longest-standing active members of the club. There were a few players, such as Eryl Jones and Paul Thomas, who had playing careers which had mirrored mine, but both had had periods away from clwb for one reason or another. But there was one individual who was a fixture within the club, who was still there watching the day I finished. That person was Steve Lloyd. It’s a cliché to some extent, but every club needed, and needs someone like Steve.

I was unaware and inappreciative of his contribution during those early seasons. The first time I met him was on the night of a Clwb sports quiz, which I think he had arranged, in the coal exchange. My only recollection of the evening was that Steve knew anything and everything relating to sport. This was displayed again some time later when Steve represented the club successfully on a sports quiz programme on S4C.

But as the years passed, it was Steve’s organisational skills which came to the fore. He accepted a post on the committee, and was a common factor during the changing years of the late eighties and early nineties, when a number of his peers left the committee and the club. When there were issues during this period, Steve was still an available, experienced head to turn to for advice. I recall in 1995, when the Clwb travelled to Pwllheli for a cup match the weekend before Christmas, and Steve drove himself up in order to retain his contact with the club, and I seem to remember he didn’t take much persuading to stay the night in Aberystwyth to celebrate our victory.

But I suppose the majority of us will remember his willingness and attention to detail in organising each year’s tour. Most of us were more than willing to tour, but had little or no interest in its organisation. I wouldn’t have wished the responsibility of 20 tourists on one of my enemies. I shudder to imagine the number of times he must have apologised for the language on the ferry, or how many times he made excuses to hotel owners.

Further to that, there was his role in shepherding the troops out of the bars or into the buses. And what was the general response? Some would obey his wishes and return to the bus immediately. Others had no intention of going anywhere until their drinks were finished, after which they would usually stop in a shop before slowly making their way to the bus. By the time they returned to the bus, the ones who’d gone previously would be playing football in the car park, and would also need cajoling back onto the bus. I guess that after a season or two’s practice, Steve had probably realised it needed an hour or more notice in order to get the boys back onto the bus.

Steve’s greatest asset during this time was his patience. I can only think that he psyched himself up for the tour weeks prior to travelling, to prepare himself for the friendly abuse he’d receive for those three or four days. It was once and only once that I suspect I saw Steve beginning to lose his cool, and that was during our memorable night in the bar in Limoges. Martin Grundy was on top form, and as someone complimented Steve on his tour arranging, so Martin broke into a verse of “Lloydy Lloydy,Lloydy Lloydy, does neb yn waith na Lloydy; Lloydy Lloydy, Lloydy Lloydy does neb yn waith na Lloydy”, which might translate along the lines as, “there’s no-one worse than Lloydy”. This rendition reduced the majority of us to weak-kneed hysterics, which only fuelled Martin’s enthusiasm to repeat the verse, and then again, and then again…

We were still laughing when he went at it for the fifth time, and perhaps even the tenth time, but by this stage, I think I could see that Steve had had enough. “ That’s enough Martin,” was about all he said, but it was enough for us to know that he no longer found it amusing. Unfortunately, Martin still found it hilarious, and was still singing as he was carried out of the bar, and left unconscious on top of a car. But as a true tourist, he had no intention of wasting good drinking time, and he soon re-appeared at the door, still singing “Lloydy Lloydy, Lloydy Lloydy...”

During the course of my 15 season’s involvement with the club, I was lucky enough to play with a number of outstanding players. Some of these stayed for long periods, others for a short term as they used the club as a stepping stone to move onto a bigger club.

There were of course other, less talented players, who committed themselves fully to the club from one season to the next. These players were the foundation of the club, who kept us in existence during good times and bad. There were very few players who could feature in both the categories above – the real star performers who could be depended upon week in week out, rain or shine. Of this small group, there was one individual who stood out.

During the nineties, Alun Coch accepted the responsibility for organising the club’s “fantasy rugby” competition. Each player had a value, and all club members had a sum of money with which to buy a team. A few of the players were given nicknames(Fingers etc), including John Hayes who was named as the “King”. That was the feeling and respect we had for him.

I was captain of the club when John joined, and as such I didn’t really get to appreciate his skills as he played for the second team, and I saw no further than the firsts. My first recollection is a conversation with Butchie, a day or two after John’s first major injury against Bryncethin. Butchie’d seen John play and it was immediately apparent that he viewed John’s impending absence as a major loss.

John returned of course the following season, and I soon saw what a skilful player he was. At the time, as a flanker, he displayed the speed, vision, bravery and confidence to stand out on a weekly basis. He subsequently moved to the middle of the back row, from where he was able to demonstrate his handling skills and timing. I have no doubt that John would have succeeded playing at a higher level, but fortunately for us, he was quite content. His presence each Saturday was always a positive factor on the rest of the team, in the same way that infrequent absence affected us negatively.

I remember one occasion when I was captain, John called me aside one Monday evening as we were pre-season training in Llandaff. I had already been preaching that the forthcoming season would see us drop players who failed to train on a regular basis. As John approached, he told me that he had some bad news. All manor of thoughts passed through my mind. He was leaving Cardiff? Worse still, he was joining another club? He was retiring? No, what he wanted to explain was that he was going to attend an evening class which would prevent him training on a Monday. Despite this, he wanted to continue playing, and understood therefore that he’d only be selected for the seconds. You can imagine my relief, and instant review of policy, deciding that “no train, no game” was unrealistic, and besides, rules are made to be broken. John played for the firsts throughout the following season.

As the years passed, John became more active off the field too, completing his duty of a season or two on the committee. But it’s his rugby which will stay in the mind. I can only imagine the psychological effect breaking a leg can have on someone, but to do this twice and return to action must take some doing. I was there the first time, down at Morganstown, when John took a typical tap penalty and charged towards the defence. He didn’t get up afterwards, and after some attention, he was helped on his way to CRI.

A season or two later, and the scenario was repeated, with him charging towards Blaenavon’s pack. Again, there was a crack, and John was left grounded. I wasn’t there of course on that occasion, having already made my way to the infirmary in Sion Clwyd’s car. It was a bizarre situation, with the doctor carrying out my x-ray telling me that one of my colleagues was next in. I doubted his word, knowing how many rugby players turn up there each weekend. But no, there was John, lying dejectedly on the trolley anticipating another stint in plaster. I’m sure that any normal individual under these circumstances, and playing at this level, would have called it a day, but not John. He was there again the following season, and it’s tribute to him that he had the courage and skill to be able to return to his previous levels again.

Similarly to Steve Lloyd, Darran Phillips has been a constant feature within the club for the past 15 seasons or more, without ever being a regular fixture in the first team. Nobody in their right mind would travel back regularly from afar just to play for the Clwb on a Saturday, and he still does this in spite of the fact that the games are frequently called off. More than this, a story I once heard was that Darren was travelling back from the middle east on a flight which had been oversubscribed. He was offered a package for the inconvenience of relinquishing his seat, but he refused as he had an urgent appointment at home. The urgent appointment was…the club tour.
Whether this tale is true or not, it still sums up Darran’s commitment to the club and to playing rugby in general. He’s always been keen to play on a Saturday, perhaps working on the theory that you’re a long time retired. My first recollection of Darran was one Saturday morning back in the eighties when we were due to meet Cardiff HSOB prior to an international. It had snowed heavily on the Friday night, and when I reached the pitch, it was white. As one who hated Saturday morning friendlies, I’d decided that we wouldn’t be able to play. End of story. We were all standing in the carpark, discussing our plans for the afternoon, when Darran came over and announced that the pitch was playable. The referee overheard and stated that he was happy to play if the captains were too. By this stage, Darren was like a puppy wanting to go for a walk, almost dragging me onto the pitch., so I went with him to keep the peace. Amazingly, once we were on the pitch, we realised it was perfect. Instead of freezing, the snow was melting slowly, creating a carpet-like effect. We played and enjoyed an open entertaining game which wouldn’t have been the case without Darran.

Darran has always been the butt of friendly banter, but it is always taken in good humour. He was unfortunate that, as a back, we generally had strength in depth in his position, so his first team opportunities were limited. He did represent the firsts on occasions, such as a league game against St Josephs at Blackweir. Perhaps symbolic of his luck, he injured himself that day, and received few if any other opportunities to cement a first team place. Having said that, I don’t believe that he was one to concern himself too much about who he was playing for. Just being out there on a Saturday was his priority.

My clearest recollection of him though, was off the pitch, when he was doing some sports reporting for the BBC. We’d been playing Morganstown, and were all enjoying a pint in their club, when the BBC presenter announced…
“It’s been a bad day for Swansea City today. A five-nil home defeat at the hands of ...At the ground for us today is Darran Phillips”
All the Clwb boys listened intently asking for silence in the club while we listened to our colleague. Remembering the fact that Swansea had lost the game by five goals to nil, Darren came out with the classic line..
“This was a game that Swansea didn’t deserve to lose!”
Fortunately for him, Darran focussed more on financial matters after this. Perhaps Clwb Rygbi were the main beneficiaries of this, as it allowed him to concentrate on playing on Saturdays instead of watching.

 

3…just for one day

As with every club, there are some players who are loyal from one season to the next, either with the firsts or the seconds. By the same token, a number of players had short careers with Clwb, mainly due the fact that they were only here during their college days, or because they moved to other parts of the country to work.
Alongside these were the players who enjoyed “careers” of only a game or two for us, appearing as guests or just helping out to make up the numbers. A number of these had a memorable day or two wearing the red or green shirt.

Back in the eighties, the CIACS were not only one of the strongest teams in Cardiff, they were one of the best Junior clubs in Wales, winning the Brewers cup on more than one occasion. Because of this, we rarely used to come up against them on the park. One International morning, however, they were the only other club in the pool looking for a game, so we entertained them at Llandaff. As was usually the case when we came up against good opposition, a number of players began to pull out, and it was nip and tuck as to whether we’d raise a team. As the weekend approached, and we considered cancelling, Terry bach said that he had a couple friends who’d come along as a favour.

Now, in hindsight, I don’t suppose anyone asked Terry who he was bringing, but given that he’d been in college in Cyncoed, we might have guessed that the guests may have some pedigree. So there he was that Saturday morning with one forward, whose ears betrayed a few seasons in the boilerhouse, and a swift, tall winger. The boys were introduced as John and Marc.

It’s amazing the difference two players can make to a team. John played in the second row, allowing me to play in the back row, and it was immediately apparent that he was used to playing a much higher standard of rugby. He won his share of the lines, added bulk to the scrum, and then, he would be first to the breakdown for us to maintain possession. If we were under pressure, we’d spread it wide to Marc, who’d gain ground, before finding John on his shoulder, who was, of course, strong enough to hold his ground for the rest of us to catch up. Two players made a huge difference to our performance that day.

By the time the match finished, we’d won by a staggering 43-15, there or thereabouts. The CIACS simply couldn’t believe it, and to be honest, nor could some of us, for that matter. It came as no surprise therefore, when Terry announced that our guests had been John Morgan, Bridgend flanker, and subsequently captain, and Marc Batten, a winger with Newport, who, I believe represented Wales B. A month or so later, the situation re-occurred, with ourselves and CIACS in the pool. The score on this occasion was not dissimilar to the first match, but it was no surprise that, without our guests, it was the CIACS who were victorious by about that same score.

There were of course others who were less successful than these two. Soon after I joined Clwb, a new winger joined too, a doctor I think. He wasn’t a Cardiffian, nor was he even Welsh, but rumour had it that he was an international player. He hailed from Kenya, and so, with the usual imagination, Dai Kenya represented us. He was a winger, and we all felt that if we could provide him with some possession, he could prove a useful asset. He had joined us during the summer of 1985, and the hope was that we would see the best of him before the weather worsened.

Unfortunately, Dai’s big chance came in a Mallet cup game in September of that year, against Rumney 2nds on the field next to Eastern Leisure Centre. Much to our dismay, the weather had been atrocious prior to the game, and it was clear that it was going to be a forward battle, not a game for the backs. In hindsight, this may not have been a bad thing. Nobody had asked Dai if he owned a pair of rugby boots, and now, as we ran onto the waterlogged field, he appeared in a pair of trainers. I only recall him receiving the ball once that evening, and it was no surprise that he failed to keep his feet. Sadly, it was to prove to be another disappointing night, as we lost by 8-6, and another opportunity in the Mallet disappeared.

Turning our focus back onto positive events, nobody who played that day will forget the match we played against Barry Plastics in a winner takes all game on one of the fields on Sloper road. The winner of the match would be promoted to Cardiff and District’s first division, so there was a lot at stake. We’d had a good season, and were a strong outfit under Meurig Phillips’ captaincy, but we still needed one more victory for promotion.

Although we were unable to play at Llandaff because the posts had been removed, other factors seemed to be in our favour, in particular the weather, which had been warm and dry, and was likely to suit our style of play. However, when we arrived at the pitch, it soon became apparent that there was no parkie to open the changing rooms. By 3.00pm, we knew we had a problem, and Meurig spent an urgent 20 minutes or so trying to track someone down. By this stage, the referee’s patience was running low, and we very nearly agreed to travel to Sully to the Plastics pitch, where even on a hot, sunny day like this, it would have been windy and cold! In the nick of time, the parkie arrived and we kicked off about half an hour late.

In the run up to the match, we’d also had one other significant problem, that being the lack of a prop. Dai Owen was available on one side, and Tony Vobe was there to hook, but we had no tight head. On some days, we wouldn’t have been too concerned, and would simply have asked Geraint “Skip” Roberts to fill the void. But against the Plastics, this wasn’t a realistic option, given the importance of the game, as their forwards were simply too strong and unforgiving. They would not have been too perturbed if one of our players received a serious injury, so we needed a strong replacement simply to protect ourselves.

Not for the first time, or the last, Stumpy came to the rescue. He said he knew of someone who would help out for a match, which is how Ioan joined CRCC for 80 minutes. He played for Oakdale, and was a superb prop. I could only imagine what must have been going through his mind as he saw the shambles unfold before the game started, but once the game had started, there was only one objective in his mind, and that was dominance up front. In the light of his performance, Dai Owen matured almost visibly in front of us and raised his game to another level. For once, we held all the aces up front, and dominated the forward exchanges. It had never happened before against the Plastics, and I don’t think it ever did again in my career. Despite all the opposition’s efforts, we won the game and our promotion. In spite of more than one invitation, we only once enjoyed Ioan’s company again in the red shirt, and that again in a match of significance against the Welsh Academicals the following season.

Another guest whose company we enjoyed on only one occasion was Iolo ap Dafydd. Iolo was related, I think, to Sion Clwyd, and was at the time playing regularly for Bridgend. I always had my doubts about involving players who were used to playing a better standard of rugby. At Clwb, the hour or so before kick off could be a complete shambles as we waited for players, rang and cajoled any last minute replacements, sent someone for the kit, pumped up the balls, looked for the flags and so on. This was all in keeping with the nature of the club, and was inevitable while the players were also running the off-field activities.

My expectation was that anyone who had played at a higher level would expect more organisation from a club. They wouldn’t expect to turn up in the changing rooms to find the kit still wet, or worse still, unwashed, or that the firsts had the seconds’ kit, or to turn up at Llandaff to find we hadn’t booked a pitch, or a ref, or if we had a ref, that he’d forgotten his whistle. This was grass-roots rugby as it should be, and I was often amazed by some so called second-class teams who had nothing better to do than moan about the fact that they were short of cash and so on. They ought to see things from our perspective.

Anyway, keen as I was to see Iolo in our colours, I was a bit nervous, and perhaps embarrassed about what he might think. Unfortunately for him, his one appearance came in a game against St.Albans up in Splott. In fairness Iolo was there to do nothing other than win, and his frustration at the lack of possession was immediately apparent. The rest of the backs knew full-well that they stood no chance of getting any ball that afternoon. During the course of the second half, Iolo’s frustration got the better of him, and he became embroiled in a scuffle with one of the opposition. The next thing I remember was him trying to find one of his front teeth in the grass!

In fairness, he did have the last laugh, crossing for a try, but only when we were about 30 points down. It was no surprise that we never saw him in one of our shirts again. To be fair to him, I spoke with him subsequently, and concluded that my feelings towards players of a higher standard didn’t apply to him. He was a competitor, and his only desire that day had been to win the game, which was the cause of his frustration. I felt sorry that we’d not been able to play him on a dry Saturday in Llandaff, against weaker opposition where he would have see the club play in its usual style.

As I look back at those people who’ve represented the club over he years, all of them have been memorable in some respect or other, but for some reason, one player stands out in this category, despite the fact that he only played one game for us, and I’d never seen him before, nor did I see him again.

As was usually the case, we were struggling for props. For some reason, a morning game had been arranged against Morganstown, and as usual, I was not looking forward to the pointless exersise of a friendly against more motivated opponents. Alongside the fact that we had no front row, the weather had also been awful. But I was captaining the side at the time, so I had to make some effort to raise a team and motivate myself, and eventually, Steve Lloyd rang to say that he knew someone who would prop for us.

As I arrived at the ground, it was still chucking it down. In fairness, my new prop was there waiting for me, and to be fair, he looked the part. We went into the changing room, and all looked well as I realised we had a full team. The referee came in and did his checks, and asked me to have the team out in five minutes. I remembered at this point that I hadn’t discussed lineout calls with Jon (I think) so I wandered over to him to run through them. As I spoke with him, I noticed him pulling a yellow marigold washing up glove onto one of his hands. In response to my horrified look, he explained that he had stitches in one of his fingers, and that the glove was a logical way of keeping them dry and clean. I understood this, but thought to myself that this surely didn’t warrant a full glove which almost reached his elbow. I left him hoping against hope that he planned to cover the glove in tape to disguise it.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case. Jon seemed oblivious to the fact that the Morganstown supporters had nicknamed him Marigold man, and each time the ball went out of play, he’d be seen at the front of the line with his yellow hand in the air, telling us all where the mark was.
We lost the match, and never saw Jon again. This may have had something to do with one of Morganstown’s flankers burying his fingers into Jon’s eye half way through the second half, but nobody could really take him seriously because of the business with his glove.

That day in Morganstown was memorable for one other event. On the left wing that day was Dafydd Levi, a speedy and elusive winger, whose main claim to fame was that he won the club’s only(to date) most valuable player award, elected by the players as part of the fantasy rugby competition. Although elusive with ball in hands, his main problem was getting the ball to stay in his hands in the first place. Alun Coch’s nickname for him was the equivalent of “teflon”.

So on a miserable, wet Saturday morning in Morganstown, I hadn’t seen Dafydd as a potentially dangerous weapon. When Morganstown’s outside half raised a huge garryowen, I recall looking back to see where our fullback was, before hearing Dafydd’s soft voice calling for it. My confidence evaporated immediately at the thought of Daf under a high ball, on a miserable day, with Morganstown’s forwards targeting him for a big hit.

But, as they say, cometh the hour, cometh the man. Dafydd stretched his arms out, and the ball stuck in the tips of his fingers. Having managed this, he set off like Forrest Gump, eluding defenders and gaining ground. He was brought to ground eventually, but only after having made it to Morganstown’s twenty two. It was very much a day to remember.

4 The popular team
For some reason, Clwb Rygbi were never a popular team. That’s the only reason which might explain why, at most venues, we were welcomed with flying fists and boots. In some respects, it may be that we were the most popular team in the district, because I’m sure that a number of teams will have looked forward for weeks for the match against the Welsh punchbags, and an opportunity to relieve some of life’s frustrations. There were days when I felt the hatred and anger had been worthwhile, as it emphasised that we had gained superiority over our opponents. On other days, however, it was clearly premeditated violence, with a view to frightening us, and let’s be honest, there were times when this tactic worked. We all had jobs to go to on a Monday, after all.

I had plenty of respect for those clubs who had a tendency for over aggression, but who were also able to play good rugby, and focussed on this instead. Fairwater, St Albans and Caerau, eventually, came into this category. There were other clubs whose standards were lower, but who were happy simply to play and enjoy, teams such as CIACS, Sully, and most of the WRU second teams.
And then, there were the others, the clubs whose names you’d look for on the fixture list, in order to make some advanced plans to be away from Cardiff. There are many games which come to mind where I would have preferred to have been anywhere else on the planet.

Every trip down to Sully to play Barry Plastics was an adventure. Everything worked against us down there. They had big, powerful forwards, who played a tight game, there was always a strong wind, it was usually raining, we generally had weak referees, and, worst of all, they seemed to hate us with a passion. I remember one of their players talking with John Hayes one afternoon, after he’d been sent off, and John had gone off injured. He explained that, while they had nothing against us as individuals, there had been some things which had taken place in the past. This was very reassuring to hear. It made me wonder what on earth could have taken place previously which could lead to this level of hatred.

We arrived there one Saturday with Meurig as our captain. It had been wet all week, and there was some doubt as to whether the match would take place or not, and the referee decreed that the decision would be made by the captains. As Meurig disappeared to inspect the pitch, the rest of us huddled together hoping for a stay of execution in the form of a cancellation. But as Meurig returned to the changing rooms, it was plain to see that he’d lost, and that the game was still on.

We entered the tiny changing rooms, and tried to focus on the match ahead. This was virtually impossible because of the deafening chanting coming from the room next door, something along the lines of “kill the Welshies” or something similar. The game was lost before we’d even left the changing room.

On the park, the hatred was apparent both on and off the field. As you followed the ball, you had to keep an eye in the back of your head to cover yourself – self preservation was the order of the day. On one occasion that day, I’d gathered the ball from a lineout, and was wrestling for it with their scrum half. Suddenly, I became aware of fierce biting on my upper arm, and realised that he was chewing happily on me. After the match, I had clear teeth-marks where he’d bitten, and I thanked the stars that my shirt had been sufficiently thick to protect me, and better still, that he hadn’t found my ear.

Later during that same game, I found myself sitting on my backside, with the ball long since having disappeared. Alongside me was one of the Plastics’ forwards. As I lay there, he put his knee alongside mine, and began to pull my ankle towards him, in an effort to snap my leg at the knee. Of course I managed to free myself, but I was astonished that a human being could consider carrying out such a barbaric act.

That’s how things went down there. At the end of each game, we’d be thankful that we’d survived, and that we wouldn’t need to visit there for another season. Sadly, their tactics were predictable, but effective, and we lost many games there which we should have won. I was very proud, a season or two after finishing playing, to watch the club playing down there with a number of new players, who were unaware of the past history. Without the baggage which we carried on our shoulders, they played an open game, and won in the type of style for which the club is noted.

A season or two prior to this, the club had played a league game against Rumney 2nds in Llandaff. John Hayes and I had been injured a fortnight before, and Martin Grundy had suffered a severe headwound at Llandaff North the week before. In spite of the fact that three of the forwards were out, there was still plenty of confidence in the team that we could win if we were able to win some ball. When I arrived, I realised that I was the only one who was going to watch the game. We had no subs, no other supporters, nobody. I thus took responsibility for putting the flags out, putting on the post pads, running the line, carrying the water, medical man etc etc.

We started well, with the backs creating space and gaining ground. After about 15 minutes, we scored a try, so I made my way behind the sticks in my flag-carrying role. As I stood there, I overheard Rumney’s hooker’s inspirational rallying call to his troops, along the lines of “I doesn’t care wot we ‘as to do, I doesn’t care if we ‘as to kick ‘em, punch ‘em, stamp on ‘em, gouge ‘em or bite’em. We just got to do somein’, OK”.

That, of course, was enough to start a war, and the Rumney forwards came out with fire in their bellies. It began to affect our inexperienced pack, but in their midst that day, was one player who never took a step back, and was quite willing to dish out as much as he took…Llyr Williams. Unfortunately, during one fracas, I saw one of the opposition forwards draw back his arm and land a huge blow in Llyr’s face, and he slowly started walking towards me with blood coming from a wound beneath his left eye. Under normal circumstances, Llyr would have been replaced, but as we had no subs, Stumpy decided to insert the stitches on the touchline.

In theory, this should have been simple. The team played on with 13 players, and I extended my services for the afternoon to helping Stumpy with his duties. Even this was easier said than done. The medical kit must have been replenished by Frankie some 10 years previously, and the needle which Stumpy used to break through Llyr’s skin was completely blunt, and he ended up forcing it through. He then asked me to cut the stitch, which was again almost impossible, seeing as the scissors were as blunt as the needle. They were the type I used to use in school, some 30 years ago, with safe, rounded ends. Llyr’s face must have been pulled in all directions, and I dare say the scar on his face is zig-zag, to say the least.

Of course, as this was taking place, the Rumney players were wholly supportive and understanding. At one point, the ball crossed into touch, and as I was busy being Florence Nightingale at the time, I couldn’t identify the mark for the line. All we heard from the opposition was “C’mon ref, they’ve gorra have a linesman...tell ‘im”. It just about summed up the game, which we lost.

On the whole, Cardiff teams were much worse than valley teams. I think that the valley sides used to appreciate that we were happy to make the effort to get out of the Capital, and they knew we’d play a good, open type of game. I do, of course, remember the day we travelled to Abercwmboi, with Richard Williams trying his luck in the front row. The game on the whole was fine, but somehow Rich had become embroiled with some minor squabbles with his opposite number, who had promptly sorted him out. None of us could understand how he could be so battered and blue after the match, given that it seemed to have been such a fair game.

The odd match against Old Tylerians went pear-shaped too. We’d always had a good relationship with them, until one match on Caedelyn, where they had one of their forwards sent off for some innocuous stamping. We travelled up there later in the season with a weakened pack, and were beaten fairly and squarely as they avenged their defeat in Cardiff. We may have lost some focus that day upon hearing that one of the seconds had broken his back on the pitch next to us. All I remember is seeing him lying on the bank next to the pitch, assuming he can’t have been too badly injured. He was left to lie on the changing room floor, and I have no idea how he managed to get home. He had, of course, not broken his back.

But the warmest valley welcome we ever had was up in Troedyrhiw, near Merthyr. We met in Penarth road, and it was soon very apparent that Gavin was going to struggle to raise a second team. As he lost players who were ringing in unavailable, so I was drafting players into the firsts too, so the decision was made to ring their seconds to prevent them making the journey down to Cardiff. The firsts travelled to Troedyrhiw, on what was fortunately a warm, dry afternoon. Less fortunate was the fact that their seconds, upon hearing that their game was off, had hit the bar in style, and by kick-off time, were baying for blood on the touchline. The firsts were apparently set on keeping their colleagues happy.

It was one of those days when we all regretted falling on the loose ball. If ever there was a day when we received a good shoeing, this was it. I remember seeing Andy Long’s back in the shower, and considering that we could play noughts and crosses on it. It was only while showering that we realised how much rucking we’d been subjected to.

For once under the circumstances, we won the game. Somehow, the forwards must have won sufficient ball, and it was dry enough for the backs to run in the scores. One of our tries was particularly memorable, a typical long-distance affair. Ianto broke clear, and crossed halfway with nobody other than Troedyrhiw’s fullback ahead of him. He decided to kick ahead, and did this to perfection, with the ball coming to rest in their goal area. One of our wingers won the footrace comfortably, and another memorable try had been scored. And what of Iants? About a second after he’d kicked the ball, the opposition fullback hit him with full force – there was no way he was going to be allowed to pass to chase the ball. I don’t think Iants knew what to think as we all congratulated him on his measured through ball.

But it was the Cardiff teams who were the most pleasant, and two other matches still live in the memory. Everything associated with an away fixture in Gabalfa was worth avoiding. It was another of those fixtures for which we would study the fixture list pre-season, with a view to planning a weekend away. Our changing rooms in Llandaf were hardly palacial, but that hole in Gabalfa took the biscuit. I always had visions of the opposition sprinkling tacks on the shower floors for some reason – that was the sort of impression it created in the imagination. After the match, a visit to the Master Gunner, where, although there was never any trouble, we always kept an eye out. The only place which matched the Gunner was the pub used by Caerau, in the middle of Ely. After a competitive, but fair match, we arrived at the pub, and I thanked my luck that I hadn’t brought the car. Firstly, one of the boys’ car alarms went off(Kevin’s I think), so he bid a hasty farewell. Then, as we were eating, one of the opposition told Stumpy that someone was trying to break into his car. Understandably, in spite of the warm welcome, we all decided it was time to leave.

Anyway, back to Gabalfa. It was a league, and therefore an important, match, but we were all very aware how the game could turn out. And boy, did it turn out as expected. In front of a large crowd in the middle of Gabalfa, it became one of the most violent hours and a half that I was ever involved in, and there were a fair few matches which could have been considered for that honour. From the start, all areas of contact, scrums, mauls and rucks, turned into brawls between both sides. As was usually the case in these types of matches, there was a weak referee in charge, and it wasn’t long before he’d completely lost control. It was dangerous to be on the field, but also to be off it. At one point, I broke from the back of a scrum, with a view to charging down a kick on the blind side. I missed the ball, and my momentum took me into the supporters, whereupon I received an elbow in my face for my troubles. As I hurried back onto the pitch, I failed to spot the irony of it being safer to be on the field than off it!

It was very strange that I grew to believe that this sort of episode was the norm for rugby players. I subsequently spoke with a friend who’d played rugby in London, who couldn’t believe what he saw on the field in Cardiff. In London, the game was played hard, but fair. I was always glad that I could go back to work the following Monday, where my colleagues could chuckle at my battered features, and by the following weekend, the events of the previous Saturday had usually faded from memory.

I did find it very frustrating how these types of games affected some of my colleagues. Phil Thomas was a hard working “flyer” of a flanker, well suited to our open style of play. He was also a doctor, for whom the need to be fit and well on a Monday was essential. As one of the fights was being dispersed at Gabalfa, I remember Phil walking past me shaking his head. I suspect he’d never seen the like of it before. Tragically for a club like us, which was short of players at the best of times, and had even fewer quality players like him, Phil never played for the club again after that fateful afternoon. How could I, or anybody else, blame him.

It was this type of game which persuaded us as a committee to relinquish our position in the Cardiff and District leagues. For all the matches against legitimate opponents, there were a number against this type of side. The situation hit its peak following a cup game against Llanedeyrn. At the time, we were in the first division, and they in the second. They were quite a strong outfit, and we knew that it was likely that they would join us the following season. By this stage, we were quite a mature squad, and we all knew what to expect that afternoon. At least the game would be played at Llandaff. Yes, we all knew that the fists would fly that day, and we all knew that the best policy was to ignore the provocation. We had to let things go over our heads. We all understood. Well, all of us bar one.

Aled Arch was a particularly underrated forward, and unfortunate to be a back-rower. With many clubs, he would have had numerous opportunities in the firsts, but given our traditional strength there, his opportunities were limited. He was one of those consistent players, who never had a poor match, nor was he ever likely to run in a try from half way. Along with this, we knew he had a short fuse, and that afternoon against Llanedeyrn, we saw the result.

The situation arose so many times, I lost count. The two packs would scrummage, the ball would be won, and seven Clwb forwards would chase eagerly. Having regained possession from the breakdown some 50 metres away, we’d notice that there was no opposition. As we looked back, all we could see was Llanedeyrn’s pack giving someone a right pasting, and Aled’s fair hair appearing occasionally in the middle. After the referee had broken things up, Aled would come back to us, with his shirt out, face red, and hair in the air. “I’ll ‘ave em next time”, was his comment, and although we all suggested there was no point, what would happen next but, ball won, chasing pack, look back, Aled mixing it again. You simply had to admire his perseverance – I really wanted to know what they said to him to wind him up so easily. At one point, one of their supporters began criticising the rest of us for not giving him any support. I wondered what they really wanted to see.

For once, we won the game. On days like this, when we had no desire to exchange pleasantries with the opposition, if we were playing away from home, it was very easy to make our excuses and quietly leave to celebrate at home. On this occasion though, we were already at home, and somewhat dependant on Llanedeyrn leaving the Cameo for us to enjoy ourselves alone. After a while, it dawned on us that some of their players were out for the night and had no intention of leaving early, especially during the Cam’s happy hour. The upshot was that most of our boys decided to clear off instead, leaving me and one other Clwb player with about seven of their boys. I think they would have stayed the night there, had it not been for Babs interrupting their evening and asking them to leave. It was only CRCC who could have been saved in this way by the female owner of our club.

5 On tour
Each and every tour is memorable in its way, and each tour is memorable to different people for different reasons. I was fortunate enough to tour on 5 occasions, each time heading to the continent. I regretted not being able to tour Ireland at all, as those tours always sounded very special, in particular the one to Tullamore, which was recalled on a regular basis by those who’d been there. But as I say, each tour was memorable, and each bettered the previous one as the years wore on.
My first tour was a strange one - Luxembourg 1984. I’d agreed to go, despite the fact that I wasn’t yet 19, and would be by far the youngest tourist, and had no idea what to expect. The night before we were due to travel, I’d still received no confirmation that the tour was still on, until Butchie rang that night to confirm I was still going. It was just as well I did, as there were only 16 of us on the bus, one of whom had gout, and of the others, Gareth Mainwaring clearly had no intention of playing.

For me, this was a long tour. I wasn’t used to this quantity of alcoholic consumption, and having stopped for ale a few times between Cardiff and Dover, I was ready to go home by the time we’d reached the ferry. But over I went, and on arrival, was given the honour of rooming with Wyn Lewis and Mainwaring. It could have been worse – Iants had given me a love bite on my thigh as we’d travelled over, and who knows where he’d have bitten me if I’d had to room with him!

As it turned out, Luxembourg was not the best place for Brits during 1984. English football supporters had trashed the city the previous year, and as far as the locals were concerned, we were Brits, not Welsh. Their anger would be seen on the second night.

The day started well, with 15 of us making the pitch, including Dai Gutsy, and his gout. It was an uncommon situation, with too many forwards available, and therefore Keith Thomas flanking, and me playing on the wing. But the star was Huw Charles, scoring the only try, and being nominated man-of-the-match, as we ran out winners by 24-0. We spent an hour or two in their club, and I remember being entertained by Frankie and Butchie on the piano.

As the evening progressed, some of the boys elected to wander into the centre of the town and it was only some hours later that we found out that a few of them had been set upon by local youths. The wounds to Dafydd Idris and Keith Thomas were particularly nasty, but thankfully, we had an abundance of doctors in our midst. Well, thankfully…ish. Frankie was one of those doctors, but by now it was well after midnight and it had been a long evening. Dafydd’s cut was inside his lip, and while it was reassuring to see Frankie go straight to work to put it right, it was the following morning that we discovered that he’d actually missed the wound altogether, and stitched up good tissue. Keith, on the other hand, had a huge gash on his head, and in fairness, on this occasion, all the stitches went in the appropriate place. What was disconcerting in this instance was that Frankie inserted the stitches while standing above Keith with a huge cigar in his mouth, with tobacco seeming to fall into Keith’s scalp. How the wound didn’t go septic, I’ll never know.

After that, the trip was fairly uneventful. We’d received a warm welcome from Luxembourg RFC, but we were all pleased to be able to make our way home, in particular this youngster who’d never consumed so much alcohol in his life.

Several seasons would pass before I was persuaded to tour again. By this stage, a nucleus of staunch tourists had developed, with Gavin Rees being one of the primary members. These four or five seasons were a “golden age” of touring for the club, which always started with the ritual of collecting Gavin in Chepstow - he boarding the bus like father Christmas with his bag of goodies. Gareth Wilkins was provider of the wheel of fortune, Pembers responsible for fines, while Steve Lloyd led the singing with contributions from the likes of Mogs. Gareth Hall always said that crossing the water on the ferry was an essential part of the bonding process on tour, and though we generally behaved properly, we were all conscious how exposed we were to families, and how near the knuckle the behaviour could be. Generally, once we realised we’d crossed the mark, we’d break into another chorus of Haleliwia, and smiles would break out around the ferry once more.

My next tour was to San Renan, in Brittany. By the time we’d reached Plymouth, we were a team of firemen Sam, with all of us having been provided with a yellow fireman’s hat to wear with pride. The weather en route was baking, and we were foolish enough to sit in the sun for part of the trip, until we collected in the bar and relaxed for the rest of the journey. Before long, the hymns would break into Mogs singing “…I told the landlady my money was spent…” and so forth for another 6-7 verses, and soon afterwards, Iants would be persuaded to give a few verses of “trên bach yr Wyddfa”. I then remember on the trip, a group of good-natured English boys deciding to try to challenge us, and came up with a few songs of their own. I’m eternally grateful that this was before the sweet chariot had been adopted by the English, otherwise we would have heard nothing else for the rest of the afternoon.
Once we arrived in France, back onto the bus and on to the hotel. Our driver that year, Clive(the drive) would travel with us the following year(with Russ(the bus), who’d actually play the match), and I always felt it was a positive reflection on the club that he was willing to drive us on consecutive tours. When we arrived in San Renan, the manageress was waiting for us at the door and I daren’t think what she must have thought as we quite literally fell off the bus and into the hotel.

I’d be surprised if the hotel made any money during those two or three days. I was rooming with Pembers, and on the first night, having gone to bed with empty stomachs, we elected to pay a midnight visit to the kitchen to see if there was any left over food. There was no food, but of course there were racks and racks of wine, and with Dave being a bit of a connoisseur in this respect, he made some calculated choices of expensive wine. And we weren’t the only ones. Most of the squad, it seemed, had made the same idea, and were helping themselves to bottle after bottle. I’m sure we will have paid for it somehow.

Most of the other memories of the tour seem to have faded from memory. This may have had something to do with the fact that I was forced to sing Sloop John B, standing on a chair, with a beer bottle up my rear, having been deposited there by Gareth Hall. My memory may have become somewhat selective subsequently. That would also be the first occasion on which I would see that pleasant game of burning toilet paper between buttocks. It was enough to turn anybody away from rugby forever.

On the field, the victory was fairly comprehensive. My only recollection was an early facial injury to Robin Ogwen, resulting in Gavin taking his place. Gavin was an unlucky forward, with his career coinciding with Brian’s, who was an ever present, first choice at hooker. Gavin also fancied himself as a flanker, but again, his opportunities were limited given our strength in that position. I spoke with his brother, Gareth, some time afterwards, who was just leaving school when Gavin was captaining the seconds. On those regular occasions when the seconds were short, Gavin would send out the SOS to his brother, insisting he make himself available the following weekend. Gareth would dutifully do so on the understanding that he would play on the flank, with Gavin hooking. Gavin would, of course, always agree to this, and Gareth would turn up happily on the Saturday. Of course, as the teamsheet was eventually handed out, Gavin’s name would appear at 7, and Gareth’s at 2.

That afternoon in San Renan, we reached half time ahead, but without having sparkled. Some of the backs, with Meurig and Llyr doubtless voicing their opinions, insisted that we needed to play a more expansive game, and run the home team off the park. This was of course probably the correct way forward for us, but of course it was like a red rag to Gavin. You could almost see in his eyes that he was going to do it his way. From the kick-off, having won possession, Gavin appeared in the scrum half position. I might have guessed, that instead of spreading it wide, as had been the half time instruction, Gavin took it on himself, won a few metres, and then looked for support from his fellow forwards. Having done this, he repositioned himself at scrum half, and, knowingly, did exactly the same again. We all knew that this would wind up the backs, and this was of course the purpose. That’s just how he was – always a smile on his face, and an invaluable character to have on tour.

We won the match, and as usual, we had a memorable night in the town, with the highlight being two of the boys being arrested. My recollection is that none of us seemed too concerned about this at the time, and I guess we all assumed that Steve Lloyd would sort things out for us. That’s what would normally happen.

Most of the club tourists were regular players, who looked forward eagerly to the April trip. There were also, of course, those who would only appear from the woodwork at tour time. The likes of Neil, Martin Kitchener and Dai Morris came into this category. Dai had left the club to play for St.Peters, but he was always welcomed on tour, and was a valuable asset, as he was a French speaker. Having re-kindled my taste for touring in San Renan, I was fully prepared and eager for the following year’s tour to Limoges. It was a desperately long trip out there, and inevitably, the trip home was even more arduous. We had half a dozen videos, which kept us mildly amused en route, though as we sat through them endlessly, they rather lost their impact.

One of the tour’s most memorable contributions began before we’d left the Cameo. As a prepared and committed tourist, Dave Pemberton had been busy cutting up his copies of Viz, and created a badge for each of the tourists. Listening to Dave presenting each of the badges was a joy, as he explained the reason why each of us had received that specific badge. Meurig was already known as Roger Mellie, so that one was easily explained, while Darren, working in the media at the time, was christened Daley Starr. The bus driver was memorably given the Nobby’s piles badge, Phil James was Specky twat, and Huw Morgan inevitably, Captain Morgan and his Hammond Organ. I became Morris Day, Sexual pervert, which took some explaining. Again, the memory of Dave standing there with the mike will be with me forever.

This tour differed from any of the others, in that we were to stay with families. In hindsight, it’s hard to believe that there were sufficient families willing to accommodate a group like us, especially when they saw our condition as we arrived in Limoges. I’d been given the honour of rooming with Huw Morgan, and our trip from the club back to the house was entertaining. “Etes-vous le president de ce club”, I asked of the elderly man driving the car, hoping my French grammar was understandable. Huw’s inquisition was a bit more simplistic, along the lines of “Nice motor, butt. Is there a kebab ‘ouse anywhere here?” By the time we left Limoges a couple of days later, the family had warmed to Huw’s sense of humour, and we enjoyed a warm welcome.

The welcome had been equally warm in their club. The second night of the tour was another highlight, with Martin Grundy at his best, and Pembers at his imaginative peak. Dave had noted that a tray, placed on the beer soaked floor, slid perfectly on the surface, and if you sat on it, you could slide like a toboggan. So the luge was devised. The game developed as we worked on the idea, to the point where Grundy was launched through the front door of the bar at high speed .

The match against Limoges hasn’t really stuck in the memory, though I know that we won, and as Russ the bus made his debut for us I suspect it may have been a comfortable victory. Sadly, no matter how much we’d enjoyed being in Limoges, we still had the long trek home ahead of us. It was a 7 hour journey through France, and then there was the ferry trip and the long run back to Cardiff as well. The only entertainment on that run was video after video….7 hours of them. As usual, we were late for the ferry, and I witnessed how close we were to failing to board the ship, as Russ was really struggling to park at the very back of it. Fortunately, with us visualising having to track down all the boys from the ferry to get them back on the bus, Russ managed to squeeze us on.

It was still a long trip back to Cardiff. As we passed customs, I recall Wilkins coming out with one of those comments which just sticks in the memory, “If customs stop me now, they’ll find I’m 50% sperm and 50% pastis!”. Even the last stretch of the trip had its memorable moments as Stumpy and Pembers gave an in depth medically based biology lesson, using one of the videos as a template and guide, with every fine detail being explained.

Each tour had improved as the years went by. This trend would reach its pinnacle the following year in Leuven, and following this in Brest. Caron Iolo had contacts in Leuven, and his presence on tour ensured that the Tregaron boys would tour, and Archie’s presence was a critical factor in the tour’s massive success. Another major factor in its success was the fact that Martin Grundy had been nominated as tour fund collector. Martin’s methods were somewhat different from what we were used to, and instead of the usual polite, “if you remember, could you bring some money next week as a deposit for the end of season tour”, there was a more direct approach, along the lines of “John, how much money have you got in your pocket now…give it to me”. It was a very effective method, as none of us dared refuse, and by the end of September, about 25 of us were committed to tour.

I don’t remember leaving the Cameo that night, but I know that we spent some time there. A toilet on the bus was, therefore, an essential factor, but it didn’t take long before it became a very unpleasant place to be – both smelly and with liquid flowing freely on the floor. Caron’s wife had been rash enough to accept a lift over on the bus, and I remember feeling so sorry for her as I witnessed her, during the early hours of the morning, making her way to the cubicle. She must have crossed her legs for hours before conceding to the inevitable, and deciding to go, and I felt shame at the thought of what must have been going through her mind as she took the two or three steps into the smelly loo.

It’s a shame that all the trips on the ferry are largely the same, and I have difficulty recalling specific events from one trip to another. By the time we toured Leuven, the wheel of fortune had gone, but was this the year that the conjuror’s sword disappeared on the way over, only for it to re-appear on our return journey? Or was this the tour when Gareth Hall played song for Guy on the piano, and then, having received a round of applause for his efforts, continued to play it all night? Gareth had laid a standard of sorts for our tours. His view was that a trip on the ferry was always going to make for a good tour, and in many respects he was right. Those five or six hours on the ferry together were the basis of our bonding for those few days in each other’s company, and the games and songs were the elements which allowed for this bond to stick. Or could this have been the tour when we “lost” Angus as we left the ferry, and we lost about an hour in France as we waited for someone to find him?
Once we arrived in Leuven, it soon became apparent that we’d arrived in some sort of paradise. I had not been aware that Stella Artois was brewed in Leuven, and we were left with no option as to what to drink. There was Stella everywhere, and of course it was even better than it is at home. So we settled into a session in the main square to acclimatise, and, alongside some of the activities of the Tregaron boys, the clearest memory is that of Stumpy trying to stay awake. He was sitting amongst us, and, every so often, we’d watch his head start to drop onto his chest as he dropped off. As soon as his chin hit his chest, he’d wake with a start and look around innocently. What he hadn’t realised was that, as his head had begun to drop, so we all started cheering “whoaaa…” and as soon as he raised it again with a start, “…hehhhhhh”. As he wasn’t aware of what was going on, he too would join in with the “hehhhh” looking round to see who was the butt of the joke.

It had been a promising start to the trip, and it would only get better. The following morning, we had a guided tour around the brewery, and although for me, it was something of a busman’s holiday, the size and magnitude of the operation was immense. Perhaps most memorable was the welcome we received. They may have realised that they stood to profit at our expense over the next few days, and that a decent welcome was the least they could give us, but they simply couldn’t do enough for us. After the brewery tour, we were provided with bottles and cans of lager, and then, perhaps less predictably, about 5 postcards each, with a Stella bottle on them. They asked us to write to anyone we wanted, and they would send them on for us. Of course, after we had written sensibly to loved ones and immediate family, someone had the bright idea that we should all send a card to one person who’d failed to tour. I don’t remember who we picked – Tony Vobe maybe, but I would have loved to see his face, and that of the postman, as 25 cards with a Stella bottle on the front, arrived on his doorstep.
After the guided tour, we had a match to consider. As the weather favoured us – hot and sunny – it was no great surprise that we won comfortably. Some of the boys watched the match from the bar, while the rest of us joined them straight afterwards. This would prove to be another of those nights where Archie would be at his best. It all started fairly innocently with a few drinks, before Archie stood up, and explained that as it was so warm, would we all be so kind as to join him in removing our shoes and socks. No problems, so off they came. Shortly afterwards he stood up again and asked if we’d remove our shirts too. By this stage, we knew something was up, and soon afterwards came the inevitable question, “would we all remove our trousers too”. Again, this wasn’t really a problem, well not to anyone bar one. Archie must have noticed that Kevin hadn’t worn anything under his trousers, and he sat there with a red face, and a broad smile. Things followed in the same way for a couple more hours, and we enjoyed a few more games in the security of the bar which was immediately adjacent to the pitch, and out of the public gaze.

How the next event evolved, I have no idea. Without any warning, Dai Morris and Pembers had challenged each other to a Sumo wrestle next to the bar. Off came their clothes, apart from their pants, which were pulled between their cheeks. The next quarter of an hour could have come from a 1930’s silent movie, as they strutted about, throwing handfuls of sand in each other’s direction, and shouting at each other with Japanese accents. It was a very memorable moment, and I was so glad I’d brought my camera with me to provide a lifelong memory. Having said that, this tour was still warming up, and there was plenty more ahead of us.

The rest of that evening carried on in this vein, with the majority of us relocating ourselves in Leuven’s main square, and before the end of the night, two of the boys were arrested for recreating the Sumo wrestle, only this time having removed their underwear too!

Somehow, we had scheduled a spare day before the second game, and we decided to pay a cultural visit to Brussels for the day. We took the train, which I can only think was to give the driver an opportunity to relax too. Who knows what must have gone through his mind as the day’s events unfolded. On the train, it was standing room only, other than for Stumpy, perhaps because the locals may have thought he was quite a bit older than he really was. He sat next to a couple of nuns, and before long, there was no stopping the three of them gassing away. We wondered whether he would stay on the train with them when we arrived in Brussels, but once we’d climbed off the train, he was there with us.

Meurig Phillips was a seasoned tourist, and could always be depended upon for entertainment. Soon after we arrived in Brussels, he’d put his hands on something that would keep us smiling for the next 24 hours. I don’t know where he found it, a skip or a bin allegedly, but Meurig appeared around a corner with a 5 foot giraffe under his arm. I took a photo of him as he approached us with “Gerald”, with a broad smile on his face, and Martin Grundy, Dai Morris and Scott laughing helplessly by his side. The giraffe would be retained as our mascot for the next day or so.

At this point, we were situated right in the middle of Brussels’ red light district, and I’ll never forget watching Meurig walking up to the windows, asking how much they would charge for an hour with the giraffe. The looks on their faces were priceless. Before long, we had settled ourselves in a bar right in the centre of the city, where there was ample room to sit outside. Again, I was glad that I’d brought my camera to retain memories of that afternoon, with the giraffe being fed lager through a straw. Shortly afterwards, the heavens opened, and we were led to the upstairs bar, where again, Archie entertained us and kept us on our toes. Some of the stalwarts stayed put in the rain, and it was no surprise that Martin sat out there longest, sharing his drinks and conversation with Gerald. That bar must have made a fortune that day as we entertained ourselves there. We had, by this stage, been joined by two Fijians, who’d enjoyed our company so much that they decided to stay with us for the rest of the day.

Leaving the bar would, of course, be slightly more troublesome. We were in the middle of Brussels, and had been in the bar for several hours, and a few of us were a little the worse for wear. It was decided on leaving the bar, that we should hoist Chris Coch onto our shoulders and carry him through the streets to the station, in some kind of funeral procession. This was the point at which the Brussels police arrived, but in fairness, having made their presence felt, they wanted to do no more than ensure that we took the first train out of the city. I subsequently heard that they had used that day as part of their preparations for Euro 2000.

Somehow, we got back to Leuven, and started where we’d left off. The giraffe was still with us, but was beginning to suffer in Pembers’ hands, who’d decided to use it as a means of demonstrating how an incision is made, and Gerald’s stuffing was beginning to come out of his backside as a result. The evening carried on happily in the bars and the hotel, with the two Fijians still keeping us company. I have no idea where they stayed that night, or how they managed to get back to Brussels.

That could have been enough for one tour, but we still had one match ahead of us, against Aarendonk. We believed that they wouldn’t give us much of a game, and to be honest, that was a good thing. The match passed quietly, with another victory, and everyone managing to play some part. As usual, we’d completed a tour undefeated. In fairness to Aarendonk, they’d laid on a feast for us after the game. There were long tables set up on the grass next to the pitch, so again, we had an element of privacy for the night’s entertainment. This, again, was probably a good thing, given some of the things which happened, and I would have been interested to know Aarendonk’s thoughts as they watched us.

For the second time, I witnessed the joy of seeing toilet paper lit between two people’s behinds, with Meurig being the ring-leader, if my memory serves me right. I also seem to remember Archie and Steve Lloyd being humiliated , and then Chris Coch being instructed to climb a 20 foot fence, which is where he stayed for most of the night. Then, the piece de resistance, as Caron performed his party trick with seemingly 50 coins disappearing(if you were there, you’ll remember!!), which was followed by Daf Iolo placing one of these same coins in everyone’s pints, which we then drank. At the time, these things seem so funny, but as I mature….

The memories after this have faded until we arrived back in England. As we all started thinking of being home, and spending some time in bed, the bus broke down somewhere near London. In the days before mobiles, the driver disappeared with some of the boys to find a phone, while the rest of us sat, subdued and tired, immediately outside the bus. Not for the first time on that trip, Archie rescued our spirits. Having found a magazine, which had mysteriously appeared on the bus, he stood in front of us, as a teacher, while we all sat cross-legged in front of him. He proceeded to read a story from the magazine, in slow, deliberate manner, as if telling the story of Gelert to a bunch of school kids, painting the pictures vividly for us all. It must have seemed a bizarre situation for anyone driving past, to see 25 of us sitting attentively listening to every word the teacher was saying. It was a memorable end to a fantastic tour.

The following season’s tour would be my last with the club. It was memorable for different reasons from the previous tours. There were fewer dominant characters, we were a strong team, and for once, the team bonded more after the first game. The welcome in Brest was as you’d expect, but I don’t think we were looked upon too favourably at our second location. I think they were pleased to get rid of us.

For once, the vets were touring with us. They were quite strong on paper, but unfortunately, due to a shortage of places on the ferry, some of them travelled a day early, and any hopes they may have had of winning their match went out the window at that point. When we arrived in Brest, it was immediately apparent that the advanced party had been enjoying an all dayer, and as soon as they went onto the field, they suffered the consequences. In fairness, this was compounded by Brest’s vets being particularly strong, and Clwb were well beaten. This became a strong motivational factor to the firsts, who were playing against Brest’s firsts. As we were changing, our whole approach to the game had changed, and instead of the usual tour policy of throw it around at all costs, a victory became essential now matter how it came.

On the field, whereby tackling on tour was normally an optional exercise, we all put our bodies on the line as though our lives depended on it. I had never know the team have to play so well on tour simply to stay in the game. At half time, there was no score, but shortly into the second half, Llyr Roberts broke through to score, which was converted. Another twenty minutes or so were spent tackling, before the final whistle blew, and we were victorious by 7-0. That was the point at which this tour came to life. We had an excellent night with the Brest players before moving to another town for our second match. That match was won comfortably, and uneventfully, with the only point of interest being the bus becoming stuck in the mud afterwards.

That night stays in the memory, thanks in the main to Rhidian, Martin Grundy and Llyr Williams. For some reason, Llyr announced that he was capable of chanting “Red Army” throughout the full 90 minutes of a Wrexham match. Although nobody asked, nor was anyone interested, Llyr decided to prove the point. “Red Army….Red Army….Red Army” We’d all had enough within a minute or two, but on he droned “Red Army….Red Army….” In the meantime, there was a big screen visible, showing general sporting events, and Rhids and Grundy decided to perform as if up against the sportsmen. Grundy was superb. By the time he stood up, there was boxing on the screen. Martin stood in front of the screen, and shadow boxed against them. As the boxers on screen threw a punch, Grundy’d duck, before throwing a few of his own. For those of us who witnessed it, it was a masterpiece of imagination which kept us amused for most of the night. Throughout this entertainment, there was one ongoing voice in the background…”Red Army….Red Army…” Llyr went on for an hour or so, without anyone listening to a word.

The last day was a spare day, with the ferry leaving that night. We enjoyed a different type of afternoon in a bar by a river, playing pool and watching Rhys Angell and Angus accepting a fine of swimming in the river. We left for the ferry in good time, which allowed us to stop for one last Guinness on our way back. There was one final strange event, when the driver decided to pick up two female hitchhikers who were trying to get back to Calais. Who knows what their thoughts must have been as they stood at the front of the bus, immediately beneath a video screen, from which was coming the noises associated with the type of educational video which happened to be playing at the time.

I was glad that, for once, we had cabins on the ferry, and a few of us locked ourselves in to get some sleep. We’d had cabins once before, but inevitably, some of the boys had locked themselves in without all the beds having been taken. That was the year that Dave Pemberton searched high and low for a cabin with room, and eventually stumbled on one which only had Steve Lloyd in it. Dave thanked his lucky stars, and settled down for a good night’s sleep. An hour or so later, he was disturbed from his slumber by a deafening sound in his ears. “I thought I must have fallen asleep in the engine room”, was his recollection, before he realised that he was listening to Steve snoring. As we arrived back in Britain, we all looked forward to getting back to home comforts, all apart from one. I’ll never forget Rhys Angell, the youngest tourist, walking through customs with a can of strong lager in his hand, and a broad smile on his face.

 

6 The cup
Until the advent of the league system, the only competitive matches we were involved in were the two cup competitions, and a few minor 7 a side tournaments. These cup matches were therefore hugely important to us, and while we were all realistic enough to know that we could never actually win one of these tournaments, it always gave us something to focus on and to target, even if the target was only to remain in the Brewers Cup through Christmas. They were also important events to retain player interest and commitment. When we lost in the first round of the Mallet in 1988, and then in the preliminary round of the Brewers, our competitive interest had disappeared before the end of September.

And so it was throughout my playing career, hoping against hope that we’d draw a home fixtures in the pool stages, giving us an outside chance of qualification, and then hope to draw a team who’d qualified from a weak group in the next round. As we were almost always in the same group as Fairwater or St Albans, progress was always difficult.

Back in my first season in 1983-4, I was playing for the seconds when the firsts were defeated 13-7 by Bedlinog. It was a close match, and Bedlinog went on to reach the semi-finals. This trait, losing to a successful side, would seem to follow us season after season, and was particularly galling, when we’d matched some of our opposition.

The following season, I’d progressed into the first team, and our cup campaign began with a visit to Fairwater. Nowadays, a victory in Fairwater would be virtually impossible, but in those days, they weren’t the team they are now, and we felt that we would travel up there as favourites. It was a wet, misty day which didn’t suit our style of play, but with some ten minutes to go, we held a ten point advantage, which we were defending with our lives. At that point, Fairwater’s backs, inside our 22, spread the ball ambitiously wide, only for Eryl to intercept and sprint the length of the field for the clinching score. Some 6 seasons later, Llyr Roberts would have a similar opportunity, only with a different outcome.

So, a successful start to our campaign, and we were drawn away to Glyncorrwg in the next round. We took things pretty seriously in those days, and DH travelled west to see them play prior to our game. I have to say, his vision of the game was far ahead of his time. He’d noticed that Glyncorrwg had a big, heavy pack, and I was given strict instructions to take every penalty quickly, in an effort to turn the pack and tire them. By the 90s, everyone would employ this tap-and-run policy to speed up the game.

The only thing we knew about Glyncorrwg was that there was one way into the village, and one way out. Nobody, however, had explained to the bus driver that it wasn’t possible to cross a little hump-back bridge on the way in, and we eventually decided to change in the bus, and walk the last few hundred metres. Taking this into account, it’s little wonder that we failed to raise our game and were beaten. As it was, we played reasonably, and scored a first half try through Emyr Jones, I think. I missed a straight forward penalty shortly after the break, and I remember being particularly grateful to Ieuan Walters, who dropped a goal from the resulting drop-out. It was still tight until the very end, but eventually, we were worn down by their pack, and we lost by 20-12.

It was a disappointment, but we were given a warm welcome in their club that evening, with vodka being sold at a ridiculous price, and I remember feeling very grown up sharing a round with Huw Bristol and his wife Helen, both of whom had been teachers in school the previous year. Our dreams of success in the cup had come to an end again, and of course it was no surprise that Glyncorrwg went on to win the cup that year.

The following season, we were drawn against Llanrumney in the first round. As with Fairwater, they weren’t quite the side that they are now, but they were beginning to show signs of progress. That season, we had also welcomed them to Llandaff for our Mallet cup game a fortnight previously. It had been a close affair, which we led throughout thanks to tries by Archie, Huw Hall and Iants, who’d intercepted from halfway. By the closing minutes, however, we’d been pegged back, and Llanrumney led by a point or two. The referee happened to be a Welsh speaker, and when we were awarded 3 kickable penalties in the closing minutes, there was a barrage of abuse from the touchline. The first two penalties failed, but the third sailed through the middle, and we’d won by 32-31.

The Llanrumney boys were none too pleased, especially when the sports pages of the Echo mentioned the victorious kick “in the face of vociferous barracking”. As a result, when the Brewers match arrived, they had a lot to prove, and we perhaps underperformed, thinking that we couldn’t play as badly again. Llanrumney deservedly and comprehensively won the match by 21-9, and we were subjected to a fair amount of sarcasm that evening in the Coal Exchange.

By the following season, the squad had strengthened significantly, and we hoped for some luck in the draw to enable us to progress. We were drawn at home in the first round against Crickhowell, a team which we knew very little about, in spite of it being Frankie’s home village. I remember very little about the match, other than the fact that it was played in warm, dry conditions, and we won by 52-0. That had been fairly comfortable, but our second round draw gave us an away trip to the Rhymney valley, to take on Pontlottyn. We knew that any valleys team were going to be difficult to beat, especially on their own patch. The match was postponed on the original date due to the weather, and was re-arranged for a fortnight later. This added some spice to the game, as the draw was made in the intervening fortnight, giving us an away visit to Tregaron if we could overcome Pontlottyn. There was a close relationship between us and Tregaron and it was soon apparent that the Pontlottyn game was a must-win affair.

The weather had been poor throughout the build-up to the game, and, quite frankly, the pitch didn’t suit us at all. My initial memory was the blackened colour of the pitch, betraying the fact that we were deep in mining territory. But it would be one of those days when we played at our best, no doubt spurred on by the appeal of a game against Tregaron. We scored an early try, and controlled the match thereon, scoring another 5 tries in the process of our 24-0 victory. We failed to convert any of the tries, leading me to believe that it must have been a very difficult day for whoever was kicking!!
Once again, we received a rousing welcome there. Gareth Wilkins had contacts in the area, and it was inevitable that he would be presented with the yard of ale. That was fair of course, though I had some sympathy for Gareth, as he’d “won” the yard of ale at Whitchurch a week previously. It was interesting the number of wise heads who disappeared from Whitchurch suddenly that afternoon, leaving only Iants, Gareth and myself when the yard approached. Iants played the trump card by bringing out his car keys, shaking his head, and somehow, to my relief, Gareth was elected instead of me. So when the yard appeared in Pontlottyn too, I felt for him, but not for long. At least he could take his beer, unlike Rhys Bala, and that fateful day down in City Rd., when Rhys drank it, regurgitated it, drank it again, and threw it up again. But that was another story. Onwards and upwards to Tregaron, December 20th 1986.

I’d been elected onto the selection committee by now, and I remember how difficult it was finalising the team for that match. Most of the team was easy to select. Frankie, Brian and Wyn would make up the front row, while Dafydd Idris and Dave Pemberton offered variety in the second row. Butchie had no peers at scrum half, and the creativity was provided by Huw Jones at number 10. In the centre, again, there was the balance of Beuno and Wyn Thomas with Wyn’s boot adding an extra element outside Huw. Tudor Young and Emyr Jones provided contrasting wingers, one fleet of foot and deceptive, the other strong and direct. Behind us all, there was Llyr Roberts, young, fast and strong under the high ball. It was a good team, no doubt, but the back row selection took a huge amount of discussion for us to agree.

At the time, we used the old Arms Park for training. There was sufficient space underneath the grandstand for the backs to throw the ball around, and there was a sand pit where the forwards did their stuff. We were also permitted to use the running track around the pitch, and while the set up wasn’t perfect, there was something special about running within the stadium. After training we’d head to Clwb Ifor to run through team selection. I remember sitting there prior to the cup game with Huw Jones and a few of the other senior players – Huw Hall and Wyn Lewis perhaps, considering our options. Huw Hall would be at openside, and I was hoping to play at 8. That left the final flank position between Dai Lewis and Wilkins. We discussed for quite some time, and I doubt that we all agreed at the end, but eventually, we plumped for Gareth, hoping for a fast and open game. As it transpired, it turned out to be one of those games which would have suited Dai perfectly.

The day itself has faded from memory somewhat. We stopped in Pont Abram en route, but still arrived in good time. This may not have been ideal, as the significance of the day had more time to sink in, in particular given the BBC cameras which had followed us down there. It wasn’t going to be an ordinary afternoon. Once we got out onto the pitch, it was obvious that we wouldn’t be able to play our normal open game, as the pitch was simply too heavy. It was dry enough, but still not conducive to running rugby, which suited Tregaron’s heavy, experienced pack, and would of course have better suited Dai Lewis’s style too. But it was too late to worry about that now. We’d picked the team, and there was no going back on it. Nowadays, we would have had the option of bringing on a replacement, but this was 1986.

And so the game was lost, as we failed to hold our ground up front. There was one memorable moment, when Butchie broke down the right hand side, reminiscent of Matt Dawson in South Africa, to score a brilliant individual try, but on the whole, Tregaron were too strong, and ran out worthy winners by 12-4. We had an enjoyable night but there was a deep sense of disappointment, and I think this may have affected on the night’s enjoyment.

Once again, Tregaron were defeated by the CIACS, who went on to win the cup.
For some reason, the 87-88 cup run has completely left my memory. It would appear that we lost at home by 24-6 against Cwmbran Saracens, but I don’t have a single recollection. It must have been a good game!

By the 88-89 season, I’d been elected captain of the club. This was the season in which we had been knocked out of both cups before the end of September, and that was very difficult to come to terms with. Eight months of friendlies would be hard enough, and being captain for this period made it doubly so.

There was no excuse in the Brewers. We’d been unfortunate enough to draw a preliminary round tie, but at least it was to be a home tie against Howardians. This was as close to a bye as we could get. But that day, something happened which wouldn’t happen again for many years on a cup day - the seconds played. Usually on cup days, we’d avoid having a seconds fixture to ensure a strong squad for the main match. But on this day, perhaps having taken into account the standard of the opposition, the seconds left for a match in Trelai, leaving just 15 of us to play in the cup match. Well, not 15 actually, but 14. As the seconds left, there was no sign of Wyn Thomas, but as he’d been a regular and faithful member of the squad for a few seasons, there was no reason to suspect that something was amiss.

We wandered over to the pitch, and even at the changing rooms, I was still expecting him to arrive. It was only as we ran onto the field, that we decided to send someone to Trelai to collect Nigel Harrington. Nigel didn’t arrive until after half time, by which time we were behind, and spirits were low. Even with 15 men, it was too late to retrieve matters, and we had lost by 18-15. There was blame attached to us as players, and also as a committee, and we’d regret it for the rest of the season, especially when you consider that Howardians subsequently lost to Cardiff Civil Service, a team who we would have expected the seconds to defeat quite comfortably.

The story was that Wyn had received a call up from a West Wales club, and had decided at the last minute to take up the offer. This may or may not be correct, but we were never given the opportunity to find out as Wyn was never seen at the club again. That may have been a wise move on his part. I was angry at the time, and there were a few club members, Brian immediately springs to mind, who were a good deal less charitable than me!!

If that season was to be considered as one of the most disappointing in many respects, the following year would prove equally disappointing for more positive reasons. I didn’t realise at the time, but we had developed into one of the club’s strongest squads during the course of my playing career. We had a strong front row, a back row as good as any in the country at this level, backs who could handle the ball both in attack and defence. Further to this, there was an excellent team spirit as we embarked on one of my most memorable cup runs.

Our first stroke of luck came by drawing Brackla at home in the first round. The objective was to ensure we didn’t fall flat on our faces as we’d done at this stage the previous year, and as we prepared for the match, we were at full strength, bar the absence of Brian Sullivan. Brian was one of the squad’s most reliable personnel, so I’m sure that he must have had a major reason for missing the cup tie. It did leave a major void in our plans, as hooker was a position in which we lacked strength in depth, so we resorted to begging the son of the manager of the Halfway, Richard, to turn out on our behalf. He agreed, even though I knew he had a dodgy neck, which could have posed him a major problem given that we needed him to play in the front row. And so it came to be, that I sat patiently in the Cameo next to Rich Halfway, waiting for my team to arrive. As we sat, I sensed Rich becoming progressively more nervous, as we waited for one of the props to arrive – “Is this one of the props?”, he’d ask, each time the door opened. “No, Rich”, I’d answer, as another of the punctual backs arrived. After a while, 13 of the team had arrived, with only the two props overdue. He knew the club well enough to know that it was quite feasible that we’d have selected two weak and spindly props, who’d never propped before. Eventually, the door opened, and the two doctors, Andy Long and Colin Dent came in. In a split second, Rich’s concerns disappeared as the two giants sat down.

And so to Llandaff for a game which should have been won with ease. As it was, playing for some reason on the pitch next to the path to the changing rooms, it was a close match, which we scraped through by 13-7. The only moment to remember, was Andy Long’s pager going off on the touchline, and he rushing to the “parkie’s” house to make the necessary call.

Having had a reasonably easy first round tie, we might have anticipated a sterner test in the second round, but, on paper at least, we received a satisfactory draw, away to St Julien’s of Newport. By now we were high on confidence, and as we made our last minute preparations, I recall that we were at full strength again. But by the day of the match itself, things became more than a little precarious for me. I’d been working that morning, and by around midday, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get away to be in Cameo in time. By 1.00, I was still waiting for a truck to come back, and as kick-off was at 2.00, I thought I would be too late. That last truck came in shortly afterwards, and I left work at 1.30, and somehow, managed to reach the ground with just minutes to spare. This may have affected my performance during the first half, as we trailed at the interval by 6-0, and deservedly so. The second half started with a bang, with Llyr Roberts crossing early, and shortly afterwards, we gained a penalty on the right hand side of the pitch. As a left footer, Dafydd Emyr took the responsibility for the kick, and was successful. After that, it was a matter of holding our ground, which we managed comfortably, without increasing our lead. No matter. We’d won by 7-6, and the third round was ahead of us.
Selecting Dafydd had been a difficult task for us, not dissimilar to the difficulties we’d encountered before the trip to Tregaron. I knew Dafydd from our school days, and I knew he was the best outside half we had. But he was also associated with a few teams of a higher standard, and as a result, his appearances for us were limited to the cup games. Steve Lewis was our outside half week-in week-out, and although Steve had neither Dafydd’s physical presence, nor his long kicking ability, he did bring the best out of Ianto and Llyr in the centre. In hindsight, morally I regret not selecting Steve for the big games. Dafydd, though, just offered that little bit more, and my greed at the thought of cup run outweighed any moral concerns I may have had. I have to say, Steve accepted the situation superbly. I never heard a word of complaint from him, and he’d slot happily back into the firsts once Dafydd had gone again.

The draw for the third round, to be played the week before Christmas had brought us a home draw against former winners, Caerleon. Again, our preparation was meticulous, enjoying more than one session at Sophia Gardens. We were at full strength, and it looked as if the weather would favour us. For some reason, perhaps the Cam was being refurbished, we met in the Electricity club, on a warm sunny afternoon, and I knew there’d be no excuses for failure today. Then Butchie arrived with the crushing news that John Hayes was ill, and couldn’t play.

This could have had a serious impact on our hopes, both from a playing perspective, and also psychologically. Thankfully, Gareth Hall chose this day to play one of his inspired matches, appearing everywhere for the full 80 minutes. With the clock running down, we led by 17-16, with Caerleon desperately seeking a winning score. Somehow, we gained possession, and took the ball upfield into their 22, where the referee awarded us a penalty. I was still trying to catch up with play, and started shouting that I wanted to take a pot at goal. They’d need a try to win it then, was my theory. But as I shouted, Gareth, who had led the raid upfield, ran the penalty quickly, and as I continued to shout, stretched his arm over the line for the crucial try – the conversion sealed the victory. For the first time in my career, we’d crossed that psychological line meaning that we were still in the Brewers through the Christmas period. That night, and indeed the whole Christmas, was very special, with the thought that we’d made it to the last 16 of the cup, and that one more victory would take us into the following season’s Schweppes or Swalec cup, and the chance of drawing one of Welsh rugby’s heavyweights to Llandaff fields. It was a good feeling, and one I wouldn’t enjoy again as a player.

One of the key factors that year, was everyone’s willingness to go out of their way to ensure some sort of success. Everybody trained on a regular basis, and everyone made sacrifices to allow them to play each Saturday, in particular the 3 doctors, Pembers, Colin and Andy. They must have worked miracles to free up their Saturday shifts. This commitment stretched as far as, or perhaps even began, with Butchie. Training duties would have been my responsibility in Butchie’s absence, and that wasn’t very appealing to me. But that scenario simply didn’t arise, as Butchie trained week after week without fail. He coached the side for two of my three seasons of captaincy, and during that time, I remember him missing only 2 weeks worth of training, and that when he had either chicken pox or measles. Yes, team spirit was good. I remember John Hayes saying to me how on edge he’d been waiting to hear the result of the Caerleon match, and how proud he’d been on hearing the result on Radio Cymru, of all places.

Another vital factor, quite simply, was the standard of the players we’d gathered. We had no weak positions. I don’t remember who replaced John in that match, but I do know that his absence wasn’t missed as much as we would have expected. The next round would be away to Newtown. We were disappointed at missing a home tie, but it was a better draw than one of the Cardiff teams, or a team that we may have recognised would be superior to us. We would all have known how difficult a game against the Buns, CIACS or Fairwater would have been, so a draw against an unknown quantity like Newtown gave us unexpected confidence. The weather also seemed to be in our favour, having been dry through Christmas, and into the new year, meaning that we were able to play a friendly before the cup tie on January 13th. The friendly was against Sully, on the 6th, which was perfect, given that we knew they’d be strong but not too physical, and there’d be no nonsense. It was the perfect opportunity to run through all our moves prior to the big game.

And so came the 13th, and a memorable trip to Newtown. We picked up Daf on North Rd., stopped for coffee on the way, and still arrived there in good time. As with the previous round, we were at full strength. Andy Long, Brian Sullivan and Colin Dent provided a solid, yet mobile, front row. Pembers and me in the second row, not quite carrying the weight, but active around the park, and confident about winning our lineout ball. A back row consisting of John and Gareth, with Wilkins’ strength and experience between them. In the backs there was the speed, and in particular speed of pass, of Gwydion Lewis, with Dafydd Emyr’s strength and boot. In the centre, thou shallt not pass Ianto and Llyr Roberts with the speed and guile of Sion Clwyd and Richard Williams on either wing. At full back, Meurig Phillips offering strength and security under the high ball, and of course, a mighty right boot. Even the bench was strong, with Illtyd James, Gary Gonc as forwards, and Butchie, Steve Lewis, Dyfrig Parry and Geraint Jenkin(AKA Henry Ramsay at the time). It was a strong squad, though I haven’t quite worked out who would have come on as a replacement in the second- or back-row. Perhaps Dyfrig’s career as a forward would have come forward a year or two.

We warmed up properly on the pitch, and carried out last minute preparations in the changing room, which put us on the front foot as the match started, and for the first quarter, we controlled proceedings. We won our lines, and Dafydd kept us inside their 22 with his long, penetrative kicks. It was one of the best periods of play which I’d been associated with at the club, but crucially, we failed to score. After a quarter of an hour or so, the game turned on its head. We were inside Newtown’s 22, waiting for a lineout, when someone mentioned that we had an injury. My mind was elsewhere, and I was hardly aware of Gwydion leaving the field, to be replaced by Butchie. I had no idea how this would transform the game. Butchie was a good player, but Gwydion was in a class of his own, and the early momentum which we’d built up was lost in a second.

I had severe guilt pangs for several years about my response to Gwydion’s injury. On the field, I hadn’t appreciated the magnitude of his loss, but, worse still, I was unable to ensure that he was ok that night. There he was in a hospital somewhere in Mid Wales, with a broken cheek or jaw, and I, as club captain, did no more than enjoy the evening, and bemoan the fact that we’d lost the game. The feeling was brought home even stronger nearly 10 years later, as I sat dejected in Cardiff Royal Infirmary, fairly sure that my career was over too. I was lucky that I was in Cardiff, with family nearby, and Rhidian Lloyd, as captain, paid me a visit to offer help and support. Gwydion was miles from home, and one thing to be sure of was that he didn’t see his captain that night. I only hope that some of the other members of the club and committee were able to see him that night.

And so the cup run was going to come to an end. It was a close affair, which we trailed by only 3-0 at the interval. Meurig converted a penalty at some point in the second half, but the door was firmly closed when Newtown scored the game’s only try, from a close range scrum. Although Newtown had no warm showers, we managed to have an enjoyable night in their club, and one of the town’s pubs, before we endured the long drive home, letting the disappointment sink in. Even a curry on Whitchurch Rd failed to raise our spirits. I would be disappointed not just for a day or two, but for several weeks, believing that it could so easily have been a fantastically memorably season. But all we had ahead was more friendly matches against Cardiff clubs, with our dreams over. It didn’t help much that Newtown went on to beat the CIACS in the next round, before reaching the final at the National Stadium.

The next few seasons would prove to be pretty disappointing from a cup perspective. The team changed significantly, and we lost the services of the three medical front row boys, which was a huge blow. Another factor which was frustrating was that we were always located in a competitive group. On occasions, we’d pick up a relatively comfortable first round draw, only to be paired with one of the heavyweights in the second round. I envied some of the other groups, where qualification for the “open” third round always looked particularly simple. In the 1990-91 season, we drew Aberbeeg in the first round, and were comfortable victors, and we had high hopes of an equally easy second round tie. But luck didn’t favour us, as we drew Fairwater away, in the days when Fairwater were as strong as they have ever been.

They had one or two outstanding players, but their key individual was their powerful flanker, Wayne Peckham, whose low-gravity running with the ball was so difficult to stop. I lost count of the occasions in which he and his fellow back-row marauders came at us with ball in hand, somehow able to keep the ball tight for long periods. In fairness, we’d gone into the match low on confidence, in the knowledge that we had no hope of winning, and it was only our pride which enabled us to keep the score down to 27-3. The first half had been tight, but mainly because we’d used the favourable wind to our advantage. Shortly after the interval, as we trailed by only one score, Llyr Roberts intercepted, and on a normal day would have scored. But in the wet and heavy conditions, Llyr was caught some way short of their line, and our only chance had gone. The rest of the match was spent with us defending our line manfully, but in vain. Of course, Fairwater won the Brewers that year.

By 1991-92, our luck reached its lowest ebb. We drew a first round away trip to Cwmtillery, which is a small village beyond Abertillery, and, as with Glyncorrwg some years before, there was but one way in, and one way out. As with Fairwater the previous season, we travelled with little confidence. We knew they’d be strong up front, and in their front row, they had a guy called Brandon Cripps, who had journeyed around Gwent representing most of the county’s first class teams. Rob Thomas and Kevin in the front row, and Pembers and me in the second, knew that it would require a miracle for us to stand our ground.There would be no miracle in Cwmtillery that afternoon, and we were taken apart.

As we approached Cwmtillery, the weather became appalling. As with previous seasons, our match plan had been to throw the ball around from anywhere, with dry, calm conditions. As I walked onto the pitch, the conditions were as poor as I ever experienced on a rugby pitch. The wind was so strong, the rain was simply blowing horizontally, without actually falling to ground. I’ll never forget Archie and the subs hiding in a makeshift enclosure trying to shield himself from the elements. The reserves must have been praying that nobody would injure themselves. Things had looked grim from the moment we’d reached the changing rooms, as we realised we had no hope of a warm shower, and it was hardly reassuring to see that there was a hot tap in a corner which seemed to work. This wasn’t ideal given the conditions, and the fact that we were out for the night.

We won the toss, and decided to play with the wind in the first half. Our plan by this stage was to sneak a couple of first half scores, and defend our lead with some zulu siege defence in the second. As it turned out, we failed to score at all with the wind, and conceded two tries. I imagine Phil James must have earned his crust as captain that afternoon, during the course of his half-time speech. There we were in the preliminary round of the cup, in his first season as captain, playing in a monsoon in the Gwent outback, having contrived to squander all our chances during the first half. There we were, lambs to the slaughter going into the second period, and though I don’t remember exactly, I assume he will have come out with all the usual clichés “we’re still in it boys” and “ next score will be important” and so on. That’s what captains are for of course, but our only interest was how soon the final whistle would blow.

Our concerns with Cripps had materialised. He could have withheld the might of our pack on his own, and both Kevin and Rob enjoyed more than one aerial view of the Gwent valleys. I remember one scrum on our line, looking quickly at Rob, knowing that we were about to be shunted back over our line. Thirty seconds later, there we were in a crumpled heap back over our line, and their pack were strutting back towards halfway, having proven their superiority once more. We played about half an hour of the second half, before the ref took pity and ended the match. It had been a pity about the weather, as we had not been able to perform to the best of our ability, and it was pleasing that we were able to put up a better performance against the same opposition a couple of seasons later.
In spite of the heavy defeat, and the lack of showering facilities, we had a great night up there. Archie was on top form, and the singing was top notch. I spent a year working in the area a few years later, and I retained very fond memories of the day, in spite of the magnitude of the defeat.

The following season, 1992-93, would be memorable for all sorts of reasons, but mainly due to the club hitting the sports pages of the Western Mail, and Steve Lloyd being quoted in a major report. It should have been a mundane affair between two Cardiff and District sides. It was an important game for us to prove ourselves, as it was the season after the formation of the Cardiff and District leagues, in which we’d been put in the third division. The first two divisions had been, on the whole, pretty fairly divided, with the likes of Fairwater and the Buns making up the first division, and a few other strong sides in the second. But Caerau Ely, our opponents in the cup that year, had also been placed in the second division, and we couldn’t understand the logic of that. On the field would be the place to make our point.

The game followed the usual pattern for most of our matches. The forwards were under enormous pressure to hold their ground, and dependant on the backs’ magic to keep us in the game. The match contained two of the most memorable tries imaginable, both complete opposites in style. Firstly, John Hayes broke blind from a scrum on half way. Having lost his support, he pinned his ears back and crossed with barely a finger on him, for a sensational try. Then, during the second period, we managed to secure possession beneath our own posts. The ball was spread along the line, and Dafydd Iolo managed to gain ground. He found support inside him, and was in the right place to receive a return pass to streak over for a length of the field score. They were memorable scores, both in keeping with the style of play which everybody associates with the club. No other side in the Capital could have scored those tries.

In spite of the two tries, it was still a close game, and when the referee’s final whistle blew, we were tied at 20-20. That’s when things went pear shaped. The referee awarded the game to Caerau, as the away team. Their players were content with this decision, and happily went on their way back to the changing room, while Butchie, Meurig and I disputed the decision with the ref, arguing that extra time was the least we should expect. But he was having none of it, and wouldn’t reverse the verdict. A fortnight later, I think he regretted the decision.

The following Monday, Steve Lloyd rang the District, and as they were carrying out the draw for the following round, so they agreed that Caerau and us would have to meet again….to play the extra time. That’s when the story reached the press. Steve was quoted expressing his concern about when we’d be able to play given the tight fixture schedule we had, but eventually, it was agreed that we should reconvene at Llandaff on the Sunday, 15 days after the original game. In spite of it being an important game, by now we knew that the winners would play the cup holders, St. Albans, in the next round, which would surely bring our hopes for the season to an end again. But the situation with Caerau had annoyed us, and we were determined to prove a point that Sunday.

And so it came to be, that, having played a match on the Saturday, we gathered again on the Sunday to play Caerau. We had the same team in place, other than the fact that Kevin was away, so Ryan took his place. The referee arrived minutes before the kick-off, and disappeared immediately afterwards, having received plenty of abuse from the touchline. Meurig kicked a penalty during the first period of the extra time, and then repeated the act during the second half. After 20 minutes of most peculiar rugby, we had won by 26-20, but as we were all due in work the following day, our celebrations were muted. If nothing else, the club’s profile had been raised again with an appearance in the press.

A few weeks later came the game against St.Albans. It was to be played in Llandaff, so there was some hope, but there was no question that we were underdogs. Our hope was that the Buns would underestimate us, and that we would have an inspired 80 minutes. In some respects, this materialised, as we played above ourselves during the first half, plying towards cow-corner. A try would have helped, but as we turned ‘round, we only held a slender 3 point lead from a Meurig penalty. In the second half, St Albans managed to raise their game, and took a 10-3 lead, but we battled things out, and still had hopes of an interception to tie the game again. But, with the last move of the match, they broke through for a second try which was converted. A strange scenario followed, as one of their players was sent off for an incident off-the-ball, but missed none of the play, as the final whistle was blown immediately after the conversion. We were disappointed. We’d been in the game ‘til the end, but I’m sure a defeat of 17-3 will have looked pretty comprehensive in Monday’s papers. A 10-3 defeat would have been easier to stomach. Predictably, the Buns reached the semi-final again that year.

The following season’s campaign would also be memorable for me, and again the story would reach the Western Mail. We’d drawn a home tie against Blaenavon Harlequins, a team we’d never played before. I had a recollection of playing against Blaenavon Forgeside some years before, a match which was memorable for Huw Jones unique skills at outside half, and for us being penalised by around 50 metres for continued backchat to the referee, with Brian and Frankie at fault. The Quins were a completely different outfit, and we decided to play the match on the wide open spaces of Canton’s old pitch. As always, in perfect weather, the intention was to run a Gwent team off the park.

We were pretty well at full strength, with Rob Thomas on the bench on one of his last Saturdays in Cardiff before heading back West. It would prove to be useful to have strength on the bench. It was also the day of Meurig’s stag night, so there was an ulterior motive to our having a successful afternoon. Sadly, two of us would fail to make the stag night.

The writing was on the wall from the start, with Dave Jones receiving a boot to his back, and then Gareth Hall was punched, enraging the normally calm John Hayes. After about a quarter of an hour, I was on my way to the infirmary in Sion Clwyd’s car, having received a boot in the face, without being aware until I got into the car quite how serious the injury was. In fairness, Sion stayed with me as the doctors began their examinations. The situation took a somewhat surreal turn when one of the doctors came to me and said “You’ll never believe this mate, but there’s another of your guys upstairs”. I assumed he must have been mistaken, as there were always dozens of rugby players there on a Saturday, with a number of them in red. It seemed unlikely that anyone could have been so seriously injured. “No, definitely, mate, ‘e’s in the same shirt as you”. As I returned upstairs, sure enough, Sion came to me with the news that John Hayes had broken his leg. It felt strange that I almost felt lucky that all I had was 38 stitches in my face, and would be able to go to work the following Monday, as opposed to John who would be stuck in hospital for a while.

When the doctor finished inserting his stitches an hour or so later, a few of the players began to arrive. I remember the look on Gareth Hall’s face as the extent of the injuries became apparent to him. I exchanged a few words with John before being ferried back to the Cameo with Sion.

The club had won the game, and in spite of the injuries, there was understandable satisfaction. I never found out who scored, but the victory had been satisfactory given the incidents during the game. John had been injured in open play as opposed to foul, and we all knew we’d miss him for the rest of the season. Breaking his leg for a second time would be hard for him to take, and could have brought his career to an end. I told Meurig that I was considering quitting the game after the incident, as I couldn’t see the point of playing at the sort of level in which these types of things happened. Meurig suggested that I take time before committing myself in any way. He obviously knew me better than I’d thought, as I was back playing by the start of December. The following season, of course, John would be back in our midst too. I guess the only mercy that afternoon was that it hadn’t been Meurig who’d been injured, the week before his wedding. Having said that, the likelihood of Meurig being injured in close quarters was highly unlikely, as I never remember seeing him enter any rucks or mauls!!

By the time of the second round, we were struggling to raise a team, let alone a competitive one. John and I were absent, and Grundy had opened his forehead the previous week in Llandaff North. The pack was weakened, and of course Meurig was still away – it wasn’t the best preparation for a cup match against Cwmtillery. In contrast with our match of a couple of seasons previously, this was a home fixture, but this still wasn’t enough for us to be able to forge a victory. Though Cwmtillery lacked the power of the previous match, they still held all the aces up front. We did manage to take the lead, when Llyr Williams scored one of the most unlikely tries, breaking down the blindside from the 22, chipping past the fullback, and then winning the footrace for the touchdown. I’m not sure who was most surprised, Llyr or the astonished supporters. It was to prove to be the highlight for us, and we lost by 19-5.

The following year, 1994-95 would prove to be another disappointing one. Our group was difficult each year, but this season, our opponents would be drawn from Hartridge, Deri, Canton, New Tredegar, Cefn Forest, Girling, Rogerstone and Wick. None of those opponents appealed much to me, either Canton, or a trip to Gwent, given that Wick had been given a bye. We were blessed with good fortune by drawing the weakest link on paper, Rogerstone, in the first round. We couldn’t have asked for more.

And so it was. At full strength, on a warm, dry day in Newport, we ran the opposition off the park. One try, towards the end, was particularly memorable, with the ball being handled by the majority of the team before we scored, maybe through Angus, out on the left. We left with a very satisfactory 40-17 win to our name, and put our minds to considering the ideal second round opponents. The conclusion was that Wick at home would be the best possible result.

Our hopes were partially satisfied, as we drew Wick down in the vale. Even having to travel didn’t cause too much concern, as this little country village was hardly likely to be a powerful outfit. We knew that our backs were as good as any in the area, and as long as we could ensure a steady stream of possession, we’d surely be too strong for them. Besides, we’d now started lifting in the lines, so one of our areas for concern was being rectified.

The game was postponed on its original date, and by the time we travelled west a couple of weeks later, it was obvious that the backs would have little or no impact on the game. The wind was as strong, if not stronger than it had been in Cwmtillery a couple of years previously, though the rain was less so. All our lineout work went to waste as the wind rendered each one a lottery. Further to this, we soon realised that Wick had a hugely powerful pack. I knew one of their props from school, and I knew that he’d been on the bench for Bridgend in one of the cup finals at the Arms park at the turn of the decade. It was likely that he’d hold his own in the front row then.

The writing was on the wall right from the start. Garmon was penalised and warned straight from the kick-off, and Wick’s forwards rolled up field. We were playing into the wind during the first half, and we knew that we needed to keep in touch up until the interval. We were therefore very satisfied with our work when we turned round only about 12 points behind. We knew that if we could park ourselves in their 22 for the half, the match was still there for the taking. But then, as we listened to Meurig at half time, a strange phenomenon occurred. With no warning, the wind dropped…completely. The only time it picked up again was when Meurig was lining up an awkward kick at goal. Strangely, during some 10 years of being in his team, I’d never known Meurig lack confidence kicking at goal, but on this occasion, I had to help him by gauging the wind with him, and telling him to aim yards to the left. Other than that, the wind had gone, and Wick spent as much time in our half as we had in theirs. We lost, officially by 18-9, though I could have sworn that I recall Rhodri scoring a try for us. No matter, we’d lost, and it had been a disappointing end to another cup run. I missed the night, but I heard that the boys had a merry and inexpensive night in one of the vale’s locals.

The following year brought us more luck on the draw front. Our first round opponents took us back to Gwent, to play against Pontyfelin, a team against whom I’d never played, and knew very little about. The fact was that there were a number of other teams in the group, in particular those from Gwent, against whom we would have been much less confident than Pontyfelin. The match itself was pretty competitive, and very little has stuck in the memory. There was a large group of the seconds there, and they witnessed a comfortable victory by 24-10. Not being able to stay out again that night, I left Pontyfelin with Rhidian on his feet singing Lleucu Llwyd. There was another good night on the cards for sure.

What we needed now was a comfortable home fixture. We didn’t get one, but we could hardly have complained about the draw, and the prospects of qualifying for the next round. Our opponents, Nash, would normally play the seconds, so there was plenty of optimism as we travelled in the bus to Newport. That optimism proved to be well founded, as we ran out comfortable winners by 29-3. We controlled throughout, and only our over-confidence prevented further scores. Again, memories of the match are limited, other than my recollection that Llyr Williams had one of those games when he always seemed to be in the right place. No matter who took the ball into a maul, Llyr had his hands on it when it came out.

Socially, it was an active time for the club, and we enjoyed a pint or two in Nash, before stopping in St. Mellons for a couple of pints on the way home. For me, this was only the second time in 12 seasons that we’d managed to progress through the group stage and into the open draw. Again that evening we spent time considering the ideal opponents in the next round, with the consensus being either a home tie with hope of progression, or if away, a trip north with a night out included. The worst draw? Fairwater away, or similar. After a day or two’s patience, the draw was made, and the result….perfect. A trip to Porthmadog, which guaranteed a night away, but also didn’t rule out the possibility of a win.

From a personal perspective, this trip would be enormously disappointing. We were unfortunate enough to play Barry Plastics away the week before the cup tie, and as I stood harmlessly in a maul, one of the opposition charged into my back, catching me in the kidneys. It would be a serious enough injury for me to miss the cup match, which was extremely frustrating, as the cup games served to retain my enthusiasm for playing. But I still joined the rest of the boys outside the Cameo that Saturday, with Gareth Hall driving the minibus on our trip to Porthmadog. Rhidian was already in the north, and Dyfrig drove up too. Other than that, there were 14 of us on the minibus – the whole squad. The veterans amongst us exchanged memories of the trip to Newtown, as we stopped in the same café for breakfast that we’d used a few years previously, and recalled our playing 15 on that occasion. We arrived in good time, and it was immediately apparent that it would be a match along the lines of those in Wick or Cwmtillery in years gone by, with the wind blowing strongly. Steve Lloyd, as faithful as ever, had driven up, as had a substitute, Rob D-J, but we very much hoped we wouldn’t require any replacements.

The boys played with the wind in the first half, and used the elements to build a lead of about two scores. As the second half progressed, we came under increasing pressure, until one of the backs took a quick line on halfway, and the ball was passed through a number of pairs of hands, until someone, Eryl or Angus perhaps, scored in the opposite corner. It put daylight between us, and was sufficient to secure the match by 24-14. We enjoyed a brief celebration in Porthmadog’s club, before setting off South to Aberystwyth for the night.

Gareth had booked us into a hotel for the night, and we enjoyed a relatively well behaved evening. In spite of the fact that I’d not participated in the action, it was a great feeling to be in the cup into the new year. We ended the night with a curry which was subsidised by the club, and partied until the early hours in the hotel. It was good to see the result in Wales on Sunday, before Gareth donned his driver’s hat again to take us home. That night, Steve Lloyd rang me with the news that we’d drawn Hollybush, a village towards Tredegar, at home in the next round.

The weather around that time was awful, and hindered our preparation and warm up matches. We weren’t sure what to expect from Hollybush, but presumed that the forward battle would be the key. These matches were the reason that I continued to play, and it was so frustrating when the match was postponed more than once, including once on the morning of the match. As time passed by, it was decided that we’d have to play on the morning of an international, which was not ideal, but was unavoidable. As it happened, the match drew a larger than average crowd, with a number of Clwb’s past players coming to the match on their way to the international. For once, we wouldn’t be able to blame a defeat on a lack of support. It remains a cause for frustration that so few past players are able to lend a hand with arrangements each Saturday, but that’s a different matter.

That morning, we played perhaps as well as we were capable, but still lost to a superior team. It wasn’t the same as our trip to Newtown, when there was little to chose between the teams. On this occasion, Hollybush were worthy winners. Unsurprisingly, our main hope came from the plan to unleash our backs, where Gareth, now in the centre, was in outstanding form. Our aim up front was simply to win enough ball for the backs to use. It may be that Hollybush had seen us play in advance, because they had somehow identified that Gareth was the key playmaker, and he was targetted aggressively, preventing him from gaining the expected ground. Our only opening came from a cross-field kick, which almost landed in Sion or Angus’s hands, but not quite, and all we had to show for our morning’s efforts were a couple of penalties, and a drop goal from Rhidian. Hollybush crossed twice, both from close quarter play, as their pack asserted their authority. It was a disappointing end, but it had been another cup run to savour.

I had just one more crack at the Brewers, and that was over virtually before it had started. We drew Wick at home in the first round, and saw it as an opportunity to avenge out defeat down there a few years before. But we failed to perform on the day, and were well beaten. We held our own until the interval, with Dyfrig gaining good, clean lineout ball, but by the second half, Wick managed to spoil any decent possession, and our source for the backs dried up.

With that defeat went my final opportunity of cup glory. On the whole, my record had been pretty poor, having only survived until Christmas twice, and I wasn’t playing on one of those occasions. But you have to consider the difficulties of being in a pool in South-East Wales, where clubs have traditionally been strong. Having said this, as I try to retain some connection with the club, I know I will take great pride when the club does indeed manage to enjoy some cup success, and given the current standard of players there at the moment, that success will come in a season or two. Of that, I am sure.

 

7. Memorable events
As I tried to recall some of the events of the past years, there have been some minor occurrences which have stuck in the memory, without having much of a story associated with them, such as our clubhouses :

Electricity club – No welcome
Coal Exchange – Warm welcome, but miles from the pitch
Cardiff Sports and Soc., Penarth rd – No welcome, and miles from the pitch
Halfway – Not cut out for it – they wanted us out early so they could let the locals in
Electricity club – still no welcome
Cameo – Perfect, convenient and a warm welcome. Food…well
Or some of our training grounds
Glantaf- Old faithful, somewhat limited.
Sophia Gardens – Expensive and nobody wanted to train on a Thursday
Arms Park
Cardiff HSOB – Not bad, but only one light. Left in disgrace having failed to pay for months.
Llys Talybont – Perfect, always dry, warm showers, everybody happy.
Morganstown – Plenty of potential, but weak lights, and it always seemed to be raining
Maindy Stadium – No lights, no showers, no pitch…
Llandaff fields – Like Glantaf, the common denominator over the years, when it was light. I still have nightmares of pre-season training there.

And then there are other simple memories, like the look of Abercwmboi’s players faces when they were fed a Ploughmans by the Halfway, when they were in Cardiff for the night, and in need of lining their stomachs.

Playing in the rain against the CIACS. If we’d played in Roath Park lake, we wouldn’t have noticed the difference. Huw Jones’ broken leg. The worst injury I ever saw.

Veteran Nigel Harrington’s face as he intercepted and went the length of the field against Llanishen
Cathays’ players being tossed aside by Tudor/Scud

John Shotton’s efforts to prove he understood Welsh on the way back from Caernarfon, speaking in all seriousness with a local couple, saying, “Of course I speak Welsh -‘plygwch dros y basn, ac na’i cymryd chi o’r tu ôl’ means ‘My grandmother has a canary’”

Huw Atlantic launching a plant out of the window of the Grand Hotel into Westgate Street below, during a club dinner.

John Shotton throwing butter at a group of old ladies enjoying a quiet dinner, also in the Grand.
The club being banned from the Grand

Playing in the rain at Pencoed, and Eryl scoring by sliding in from about 22 metres.
A similar effort from Beuno against the Meds at Llanrumney

Everyone panicking about how to break the news to Babs that we weren’t going back to the Cam after a match in Llanishen, that after she’d agreed to put faggots on for us. The reason? Llanishen were offering Curry and Rice…no contest

Gareth Hall’s face as he made the call to Babs.

Gavin Rees’s antics throwing ice at the clubs 21st anniversary dinner.

A photo shown by Rhys Lloyd during one of his after dinner speeches, of someone who was the spitting image of Steve Lloyd

The guest speech at the 21st dinner

Butchie spending the night under one of the tables after a dinner at the Royal Hotel
Hearing about Rhys Bala’s concussion.

Gary Gonc being replaced after injury in a match at Bryncethin, by one of the opposition’s forwards, as we were thin on the ground. He was the smelliest player I ever had to pack down with.

Paying a fortune to train at Sophia Gardens, and then only half a dozen of us turning up to train, so we just played football.

Poor old Andy Bowater. Gavin preferred to play with 14 men, with Andy subbing, rather than give him a game.

David Bishop, when he was banned from rugby, playing against us for Butetown. I clearly remember his line, “Don’t worry about the ball, just hit the scrum half!!”

Marc Edwards, a talented winger who disappeared with our promising player award. Having won it one season, we never saw him again.

The score of a match against Llantrisant reaching the back pages of the Western Mail.
Playing against Llandaff North, with a pack consisting of Matt Trewella, Martin Powell, Gareth Hall, John Hayes and myself. I doubt that we’ve ever played with such a tall pack.

Dawn French turning up to watch a game in Llandaff. This may have been a wind up, as I couldn’t see a thing on the pitch without my specs, but the rumour was that she was filming in Cardiff and had come to Llandaff fields for some reason.

The game against the Welsh Academicals, when we were able to pit ourselves against a team of internationals and Lions.

Rupert Moon refereeing a match against the Poly of Wales, and threatening to postpone the match if the fighting didn’t stop.

Watching Daf Iolo’s appearance on the Welsh version of Blind Date, while sitting in a pub in Raglan
Listening to Pembers singing Ernie, on our mystery trip to Usk

Training at Llys Talybont. It didn’t matter how much rain had fallen, it would still be dry underfoot.
Richard Williams optimistically deciding to become a hooker. During one of his first games in the position, he decided to mix it with Abercwmboi’s front row, and came off second best.

Huw Eurig, having been persuaded to transfer from being a soccer player to a rugby player, receiving a hospital pass during one of his first games, and finding that his nose ended up nearer his ears.

The club’s efforts to generate money, by hosting Roc-y-Doc in the coal exchange, with Geraint Jarman and Caryl Parry Jones. Unfortunately, Roc-y-Doc2 coincided with poor weather, and all profits from the first event were lost.

The club were never much into nicknames, but there were a few, generally initiated by Meurig. Some had imagination:

Milky Bar Kid - Phil James
Peter Sutcliffe - Dyfrig Parry
Agribot Eirian Davies
Mushroom - Paul Thomas
Stumpy - Andy Thomas
Wiblet - Gareth James
Roger Mellie - Meurig Phillips
Dr Mengele - Ieuan Lloyd(as coach)
Henry Ramsay - Geraint Jenkin

Some which were hard to understand
Panda - Andrew Evans
Bubba - Sean Clarke
Gonc - Gary Davies

Some essential
Huw Bristol - Huw Davies
Huw Atlantic - Huw Davies
Huw Eic - Huw Llewellyn Davies
Butchie - Huw Davies

And some lacking in imagination,
Alun Coch - Alun Evans
Chris Coch
Wyn Bach - Wyn Davies
Terry Bach - Terry Jones
Huw Bach - Huw Jones

Some which simply explained where someone was from
Dai Kenya
Rob Cathays
Rich Halfway
Rhys Bala
Eilian Gogtwat
Andy Llanhari

8 Dream team
As a player, my hope had always been to enjoy success in either of the two cup competitions, the Brewers or the Mallet. On the whole, we were never quite strong enough, in particular up front, to hold our own during those final rounds. I would guess that the strongest team I was involved in was the one which travelled to Newtown, but I do sometimes wonder how strong we might have been had we been able to draw players from different eras during my involvement with the club, to create one super team, a dream team, if you like. The criteria which I used was to think of players and their performances while I was a playing member of the club, which has meant that I’ve discounted some players whose best performances were either before I joined the club, or after I quit.

What follows is of course open to question and dispute. I reckon I played with around 150 players during my Clwb career, and so selecting just 15 is not going to be an easy process. So where does one start something like this? Well with the forwards of course, and where better to start than the front row.

When I joined the club in the early 80s, the front row was a closed shop. It was very uncommon for any of the front row places to be taken by anyone other than Wyn, Brian and Frank Williams. Frank was another of those players, and there were a great many, who played with a smile on his face. I only recall one occasion when he lost his rag, and that was when Beuno tried a pass behind his back during a game against Whitchurch, which was intercepted. Frankie was well into his 30s when I joined the club, but in spite of that, he was a fit man, and I think he would have been a useful asset in today’s game, given his handling skills and work around the field.

It’s strange that my main memory of Frank occurred away from the pitch. We had a barbecue arranged at Porthkerry, and had been instructed to bring our own food. The majority of us brought burgers and sausages, but Frankie appeared with half a pig to put on the Barbie. Further to that, it was frozen solid. He stood patiently next to the barbecue for the next few hours, as the rest of us tucked into our dinners. To be honest, I have my doubts whether he ate at all that afternoon. The other thing about Frank which stays in the memory was his commitment to the club. He lived in Llangattock, and in spite of that, he was a regular trainer, and was available pretty well every Saturday. He was a superb example to the rest of us involved with the club at the time.

In the seconds for much of this time was Keith Thomas. Keith wasn’t your ordinary looking prop, carrying a lot less weight than your usual front rower. But more fool anyone who underestimated his ability in the front row. He was one of the strongest props I could imagine, in spite of his lack of weight, at there were very few occasions in which he was outplayed. His opportunities in the firsts were limited by the presence of Frankie, Brian and Wyn, and although a more natural prop, he did enjoy a few outings as hooker, where I recall that he struck with his left leg. Again, I remember Keith as a team man, who was always willing to help in any circumstances. When he was promoted to the firsts, he was among the boys I had to ring on a weekly basis to confirm availability, and each week, without fail, he would offer his services to ring around to rally some of the other troops. This was, perhaps, the sign of someone who had spent time captaining the seconds, and was aware of the need for teamwork under these circumstances.

Following Wyn and Frankie’s retirements, sourcing forwards, in particular front row players, became even more difficult. The doctors amongst us became more prominent, and invaluable, and amongst these came Colin Dent. Colin worked with Dave Pemberton, and was yet another whose rugby philosophy was to play with a smile. He was a more old fashioned prop, who was unlikely to be seen charging around the field with the ball under his arm. In contrast, he’d enjoy the physical challenge of a set piece, before slowly making his way across field to the next breakdown on the other side of the pitch. He carried quite a bit of weight at the time, which meant that he was well suited to the more static rugby of the eighties. But in spite of his huge contribution on the pitch, I’ll remember primarily his dry, direct sense of humour. He spoke slowly and deliberately, and there was often a sense of irony in his tone of voice.

I remember one Saturday, when I was begging him to play, in spite of the fact that he was due to be working. He agreed that he’d meet us in Llandaff, and would only ring me at home if he couldn’t play. At around 12.30, with me about to leave the house, the phone rang. “Hello John, it’s Colin Dent here” he said slowly. “Hi Colin” I answered, immediately beginning to consider an emergency contingency plan, which would probably result in my having to prop. “Just ringing to let you know that I’m OK for this afternoon, and I’ll see you in the club in half an hour”. It’s hard to explain the extremes of panic, followed by relief in the space of 3-4 seconds, and I could picture the amusement it would have brought him to know he’d wound me up so easily.

When Colin left around 1990, again the prop situation could have become insurmountable. Seeing anyone training, who had the appearance of a front row player, was a source of great pleasure. It was therefore a day to remember when Kevin Evans arrived on the scene. I remember training one evening in August at Llandaff, when Mogs appeared with Kevin on his shoulder. Manna from heaven. Kevin wasn’t just a prop, but clearly a quality prop, who’d played at a higher level than ours, and perhaps best of all, a good character, who would clearly contribute to the social scene at the club. I always felt sorry for Kev.

Dafydd Idris had retired a season or two beforehand, and he was one of the few locks we had who would never take a step backwards when the going got tough. This was, of course, very reassuring for the likes of Frank and Brian, who would willingly watch Dafydd defend their corner for them. But Kevin? All he had shoving behind him through the years was Pembers and me, or Matt Trewella, or Huw Phillips, or Martin Powell. I think we all contributed in our ways, but, lets be honest, we were hardly a bunch of Olivier Merles, or Colin Meads, and as soon as the nonsense started, you were likely to find us all chasing the ball with tunnel vision, before taking a peep behind us to witness Kevin taking an almighty pasting from the opposition pack.

This may explain one of my memories with Kevin, playing against the Poly of Wales at Treforest, in a match being referreed by Rupert Moon. For once, we were the instigators of the aggression, although it should be remembered that we were playing a bunch of 19 year olds. I remember rising from a scrum, and seeing Kevin with a spotty teenager in a headlock, giving the poor boy a real seeing to. I could almost hear the frustration coming out of him “This one’s for the one I got against The Buns, this one’s for BP, this one’s for Caerau…”.

Kevin wasn’t a high scoring member of the front row, in fact, I don’t recall a single try he scored. I do remember the one that got away though! We had travelled one Saturday in September into mid Gwent, for a game against Abersychan, and we anticipated a tough forward encounter. When we arrived at the pitch, it was the classic cliché of grass roots rugby, with sheep in the changing rooms, and a pitch situated on the side of the mountain, with a sheer drop over one side. On the field, we concentrated on our rugby, and had a virtually fault-free afternoon. We had a right-winger in our midst, who was playing pretty well his only game for us before going to uni in Southampton, and by half-time, he’d crossed four times. By the second half, we were running everything, literally gathering the ball from the kick-off, rolling upfield a short way, before unleashing the backs. It was nigh on perfect rugby, all in the style that we would expect from Clwb Rygbi, and by the time of the final whistle, we were victorious by 93-0, and this in the days when a try was worth 4 points.

At some point during the second half, we had interpassed upfield, and somehow, the ball had ended in Kevin’s hands. I wasn’t far away from him, and it was clear that the defence had been outstripped, and that nobody could prevent him scoring. Suddenly, there came a voice from beside us, “Kev, watch out… man-on”. In a fit of panic, befitting someone completely out of touch with being in a try scoring position, Kev panicked, and threw the ball into Mogs hands, without realising the call had come from Mogs himself. Huw gleefully ran under the posts for the try, and we were left to see the mournful look on Kevin’s face as he realised that nobody else was anywhere near him, and that he’d been caught out by his best mate. I never remember him getting that close again. To add salt to the wound, Kevin drew the short straw that night of having to drink a concoction of Guinness and most of the top shelf.
We were short of props from the end of the eighties until I stopped playing, though it has to be said, things could have been a lot worse.

Rob Thomas had joined the club as a back-row forward, and as with many others in this position, he would have been a first team regular at most clubs. Given our strength in the back row, his opportunities there were limited, so, after a successful stint of second team captaincy, he volunteered his services as a makeshift prop. His build was right for the position, and he had plenty of strength to hold his own, but I knew he had a weakness in his neck, and couldn’t help but feel that there was always a nasty injury around the corner. In spite of this, he enjoyed two or three seasons as one of the most popular and influential members of the club.

Technically, he will never have been classed as the world’s greatest prop, but no others had the same heart. He held his ground, simply because he was determined not to take a backward step. He also benefited from having the right mentality for front row duties. I remember a game up in Raglan, where we held a comfortable lead, and things were running smoothly. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I caught site of Rob launching three or four haymakers, simply because someone had obstructed him. Again, he wasn’t a big try scorer, but I do remember one memorable score against Dinas Powis, when he raced in from half way.

There’s no place for Rob in this 15, though had I been selecting a squad, I would almost certainly have found room for him. His personality would be essential to maintain the team spirit. His departure was the catalyst for the club going through a number of major personnel changes, as many of us retired soon after. Once again, it would mean a period of rebuilding for the club.

By this stage, 2 new young props had joined the club. Had it not been for injury, it might have been that Robin Ogwen and Dai Owen could have been propping until today. Robin was the smaller of the two, but was clearly a powerful man, with huge thighs. He came to us after starting his senior rugby with Clwb Ifor Bach’s team, and I vividly remember that day when he, Phil James, Scott, Grundy and Daf Levi marched across Llandaff fields to train with us. It was another important day in our history, with the sudden influx of new players, whose input over the years would be immense. Of these players, Robin would prove the most useful, given his playing position in the front row. In spite of this, I do remember sitting down with him on those odd days when we had an experienced older head available, to explain that I was putting experience ahead of his youth.

Strangely, my two memories of him on the field are related to injuries. The first, on tour in Brittany, was a cut above his eye within minutes of the kick-off, and the second would end his career. We were training on Llandaff fields, and jogging gently the length of the pitch. Robin was running not too far from me, when he trod on a ball, and twisted his knee, in an incident not dissimilar to that experienced by Dyfrig a season or two previously. Robin’s injury was even more serious, and his career had come to a very sudden end. About ten years later, I bumped into him, and discovered that he’d been able to restart his rugby, and had been turning out for, of all teams, Tongwynlais, which seemed to highlight to me what a loss he’d been to us. He could have been a stalwart for us for many seasons.

Alongside him through this period would surely have been Dai Owen. I remember Dai joining the club, as a quiet, shy individual – this has changed somewhat in the intervening years. His captain’s speech some years ago in the Park Hotel was one of the club’s more memorable speeches. On the field, he matured very quickly, in particular after the “winner takes all” game against Barry Plastics, and became an important and dependable club member. It was only after I’d finished playing that I acknowledged his real commitment to the club.

During the early nineties, matches against Barry Plastics had invariably turned sour, and as a result of these, and other similar games, the decision was taken to withdraw from the Cardiff and District leagues. It was a major decision, meaning that we had nothing but friendly matches to play throughout most of the season. As a result, by the end of the decade, when the club was drawn in the Mallet Cup to play against the Plastics, there were only a few of the remaining players, Neil, Dyfs and Dai, who had any inkling of what to expect.

It would not have been difficult for Dai to excuse himself from the game, but to the contrary, he was there to the fore. It may have been his knowledge of the past history which explained the look of satisfaction on his face at the end of the match, which the boys had won in spite of trailing at half time. Playing to their strengths, they had turned the game on its head, and conjured up a sweet tasting win. I had nothing but respect for Dai, as he emerged unscathed from the lion’s den.

There were a number of others who wore the number 1 or 3 shirt during the years, like Sean Clarke, known to all and sundry as Bubba, whose main interest after each game would be checking on Blaina’s result that day. Another was Ryan Davies, a close friend of Kevins, who stood out as the most willing of props, quite happy to represent the seconds week-in week-out, but also good enough for the firsts when required. His moment of glory came in the 20 minute cup match against Caerau. We had one season in the company of Morgan Hopkin, before he returned to Cath’s arms in Pobol y Cwm, and one or two with Illtyd James. Further to these, there were those players who became props once they’d arrived at the club, such as Andy Beale, whose strength allowed him to prop in spite of his being a more natural hooker.

Another in this mould was Bleddyn Rhys, whose first appearance at the Cameo I’ll never forget. He turned up unannounced, innocently explaining to Meurig and me that he’d heard that we met there, and that he was just looking for a game. Meurig asked him what position he played, to which his response was on the lines of, “Mainly back-row, but I have played a bit in the front row too”. Meurig and I exchanged knowing looks, with the pair of us sharing the same thought, “Chances of this person playing back row = nil”.

Having considered some of the youngest props in our recent history, we should spare a thought for the oldest. I couldn’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Bryn Evans was in his mid-forties when he was dragged out of retirement for a game against Glamorgan Wanderers. It was unfortunate that it was a warm May evening, with the Wanderers needing a win for promotion, and thus at their strongest. In spite of a heavy defeat, we performed bravely, and it was a testament to Bryn’s fitness that he held his own throughout the game.

But if I’m going to put forward two props for this imaginary team, there are two players who come to mind, both completely different in their styles. One choice is obvious, the other, perhaps less so. I’ve already described Wyn Lewis’s strengths and attributes. He was a strong, popular character, and for me as a young forward, was an important tutor.

He played in an age when front row play differed enormously from how it is today. There was little more important to Wyn than being able to hold our own up front, and that we secured our own lineout ball, while spoiling the opposition’s. There was a common joke amongst the players that on those infrequent occasions when the ball landed in his arms in open play, all he would look to do was set up a ruck. In fairness, that’s what props were there for in those days, not for running around the park looking to handle the ball. Although he lacked the size of most of his opponents, his technique, crafted through seasons playing at a higher level than ours, was usually sufficient to allow him parity at least. No opposition prop would expect an easy ride against him. Greater than all of this perhaps, was the fact that the club meant so much to him, signified by his achievement in captaining the side for 4 seasons, and contributing in other capacities on the committee as well. But it’s his playing which sticks in the memory, and which allows me to consider him the cornerstone of the imaginary 15. Even as I write, things still come to mind about him, such as the noise which he produced when he cleared his throat before a game, or the fact that he washed his hair after a match by rubbing soap in it!

In terms of front row players, it’s a case of one extreme to the other. I’m not sure whether Andy Long was the best technical prop we ever had, but he had many attributes to go alongside his propping. Unlike Wyn, Andy was a prop very much in the modern mould. He was only around for two or three seasons, and unlike Wyn, he wasn’t one of those who’d be around every weekend, although this was partly explained by the fact that he was a shift working doctor. Whenever there was a big match, though, he’d be there. Andy was a big man, but also an athlete. The try he scored down against Sully the week before we went to Newtown was unbelievable, as he gathered the ball inside his own half, and set off like a hare to score in the far corner. I know it could be argued that we were only playing Sully, but most of our team had difficulty keeping up with him.

As I say, I’m not sure on his technical ability, but I do know that he would bring some distinct benefits to the balance of the team. He and Wyn would contrast nicely in the front row, one solid and technically strong, the other quicker and loose, but carrying more bulk. And so to the hooker – a two horse race methinks.

Tony Vobe’s contribution to the club was enormous. He arrived with the other Clwb Ifor players, and had soon established himself as first choice hooker, a position he’d retain until he left the club. His departure was a big blow to the club, especially as it coincided with Rhidian’s decision to move on. Rhidian’s loss was a major one, but at least we had a regular supply of backs coming through the ranks. Tony’s departure, on the other hand, left a huge void in the front row. Even today, some 5 or 6 years on, I don’t think we’ve been able to fill his boots in that position. For me, the saddest part of his leaving, and indeed Rhidian’s too, was his choice of club. Pentyrch had never been world-beaters, and though they’ve had a consistent year this season, they’re never going to be one of the area’s major forces. It was a great disappointment to see him leave.

On the field, Tony had everything which was required to make a good hooker. To start with, he was the perfect shape. He was strong enough to hold his ground in the front row, but also featured around the park too, and was never afraid to have the ball in his hands. He also proved to me that he was a good listener and learner. When he joined, his throwing in was erratic, to say the least. One pre-season, however, he turned up with a completely rehashed throwing technique, using two hands, in the style of Sean Fitzpatrick. In no time, the one area of weakness had been transformed into a strongpoint. But it is Tony with ball in hand which I recall most clearly. There was one occasion up at Llandaff North, when I was watching from the sidelines, when Tony took possession near the touchline, right in front of the main bank of supporters. In front of him was one of Llandaff’s big forwards, and a clash between the two was inevitable. Tony dipped his shoulders, running low to the ground, and following a mighty clash, he carried on his way, with the defender flat on his backside. It was an inspiring moment for the rest of the team. In some positions, Tony would have been a certain starter in this team, but on this occasion, he’ll have to make do with a place on the bench.

Amongst some of the others who wore the No2 shirt, there were some real characters, like Huw Morgan. Huw was injured when he joined the club, and it seemed that he was injured throughout most of the rest of his playing days. He remained an important social member even when injured, and was an essential tourist. Nobody would lead the drinking on the ferry like Huw, but it was never long before we saw his eyes beginning to close, and he’d find himself a quiet corner to sleep, just as the rest of us were hitting second gear.

This was all part of Huw’s character. If ever there was a believer in the adage, work hard, play hard, then Huw was that person. We all knew he worked long hours during the week, and by the weekend, he’d enjoy the match, an hour or two in the Halfway, and then on to the Cameo. I wonder how many times he fell asleep in the Cam? In spite of the hard work, he was a loyal player, and one of those who made real sacrifices to enable him to train. There were many occasions when we were training at Glantaf on a Monday night, when Huw would turn up at around a quarter past seven, just as we were winding down, and would conscientiously go for a run around Llandaff. On the field, he would hook well, and his throwing in was…well, hit and miss, maybe. Having said that, he never put in less than 100%, whether that was playing or adding to our social scene.

So who else was there in this position over the years. Back in the eighties, there players like Huw Atlantic, and Eifion Rees, two who would have been vying for the first team place, had it not been for Brian’s presence. There was also Gareth Harries, whom I remember not just for his rugby, but for his organisational skills as fixture secretary. I recall him showing me how he was lining up fixtures for the club literally seasons in advance – in years to come, there were times when we’d be lucky to have fixtures lined up weeks in advance. By the eighties, we’d been joined by Gary Davies, or Gonc as he was known. He suffered as a result of his playing when our pack was at its weakest, and he was never able to prove himself in a successful team. In addition to that, I remember him agreeing to prop for me one afternoon, and of course, having agreed to that once, it became a regular request as time went by. He agreed to this one Saturday up in Bryncethin, and picked up a nasty gash over his eye in the first minutes, meaning his game was over before it had started.

More recently, the likes of Emyr Morgan, Hefin Jones and Andrew Scott(Scott to us all) joined the club. When he left to return back west, Emyr had developed cult status within the club, primarily for having received the club’s first yellow card, for throwing a punch or two at Tommy, from the Plastics. He was another wholehearted, committed player, who didn’t carry the weight of your ordinary hooker, but enjoyed the combat of the front row, and rarely took a backward step. His throwing in was generally…erratic, but he took the friendly abuse in good heart, and always with a smile on his face. His departure in 2000 was a loss to the whole club.

Hefin was clearly not a natural hooker. I remember watching a second team fixture in which he was playing, and seeing him throw in one minute, and then appear some 20 meters behind our fullback the next. I suppose we could class him as the ultimate modern forward. As someone who clearly played the game for fun and enjoyment, it was particularly sad that his career came to such a brutal end following injury received via the boot of one of Ely’s players. He was one of the least likely players to inflict injury on anybody, and it seemed unjust that he should suffer in this way. Further to this, I had a lot of time for Hefin, if nothing else, for the fact that he was the only person who picked me in his fantasy rugby team of the early nineties!

Scott’s main problem was his versatility. He was another of those who could be in the front row for the firsts one week, and then at scrum half for the seconds the following week. He was a jack of all trades, and a good one at that.

But selecting a hooker for this team is actually a simple exercise. Brian Sullivan’s name might in fact be the first name I’d put on the team sheet, such was his stature and respect. He not only inspired his fellow players with his play, but with his inspirational and aggressive enthusiasm. It led to the rest of us holding him in great esteem. Brian could do it all on the pitch. He wasn’t the biggest hooker, but he had the technique, and it was very uncommon for us to fail to win our own ball. Around the pitch, he was fast, fit and a natural ball-handler, but it was the accuracy of his throwing in which was outstanding.

During my first season at the club, our principle source of lineout ball was Ieuan Lloyd at the tail, and it was only Brian’s pinpoint accuracy which allowed us to take advantage of this. He was an outstanding competitor, with a fierce will to win. He expected his colleagues to give nothing less than 100%, and expected all parties, be they players or referees, to carry out their duties efficiently. I know it took time for me, as a youngster, to prove myself to him, but I hoped that I achieved this eventually. One who failed to maintain this level of efficiency was our referee down at Baglan. He clearly had no concept of the rules, and while most of us were letting his ignorance pass us by, Brian was going absolutely bananas. Eventually, he was sent off, but I’ll never forget his face as he trudged to the changing room, continuing his volley of abuse. After the game, we began to consider how long his ban would be, until it was brought our attention that the referee was in fact not a bona fide ref, and that the sending off would not be communicated to the district. It made Brian’s behaviour somehow more understandable, as it indicated that he was correct that the ref didn’t know his stuff after all.

The end of his career was a sad affair. It had been a memorable year, having reached the last 16 of the cup in Newtown, and the season was winding down to its climax. As April arrived, so our performances would improve as we were able to run the ball on hard, dry surfaces. I remember Brian’s last match, a trip down to play Newport Saracens, on a warm day, where we’d borrowed a few of his fellow medics for the afternoon. I can only imagine the opposition’s thoughts as we ran the ball memorably for an hour and a half. It was, perhaps, an apt way for Brian’s career to come to an end. I spoke with Butchie that week about team selection, only for Butchie to let me know that Brian had suffered a slipped disk, and would be on his back for the next few weeks. One thing was for sure, and that was that he wouldn’t play rugby again.

So, the front row is in place. Wyn Lewis’s strength and technique, Andy Long’s size and mobility, and Brian Sullivan’s multi-skills. So, what about the powerhouse behind them?
To be honest, powerhouses have been few and far between, and the majority of us were short lighthouses. In my early days, my second row partner was Dafydd Idris, one of those whom it would be fair to class as a powerhouse. I learned a lot from Dafydd about how to secure lineout ball against people much taller then ourselves. As Daf was far from being the tallest second row in the district, he and Brian had developed a technique for securing possession. It was achieved, in simple terms, by throwing in as flat to the front as was possible, and there were occasions when Brian’s throw would only just get over Frank’s head at the front. Daf would jump as far forward as he would up, and would take the ball in his stomach, immediately above Frankie’s head. It was a technique which served Dafydd for seasons, and in later years would work for me too. Dafydd also represented the “hard” element of the pack. He was one of those players who never flinched from conflict, which seemed to be a common denominator amongst the North Walians, like Llyr Williams and Rhys Lloyd. Dafydd enjoyed an annual scrap with a redheaded second row from Canton, but the most memorable afternoon for him was that afternoon in Baglan when Brian was sent off. I’ve no idea how the fighting started, but following one restart, the Baglan players simply ignored the ball, and assaulted Dafydd as a team. As always, Dafydd stood his ground, and I can imagine he landed a few blows too.

My second row partner for many seasons was Dave Pemberton. We were quite similar in our ways, both with aspirations of playing in the back row, and both fancying ourselves as a bit of a John Eales with our kicking. But in the linesout, Dave was the master. I don’t think many of the backs understood or appreciated the work Dave contributed in the lines, and I remember some of them asking him to contribute more in the tight exchanges. But Dave’s style was more open, and as soon as he’d won the ball, he wanted to get into midfield with the ball back in his hands, instead of getting stuck into a ruck or maul. Dave was the best exponent of lineout jumping I came across during my days at the club. This was, of course, in the days before lifting was permitted, and so technique was absolutely essential. I have a photo of Dave jumping for the ball in Tregaron, and his technique is perfect – two eyes on the ball, arms fully outstretched, and, with no support, his feet well off the ground. If I could compare him with any player of the current generation, I guess the closest would be Chris Wyatt, though that may not be very fair on Dave.

Off the field, Dave was a popular team member, and there are many stories associated with him. As a doctor, his contribution continued after each match, caring for the wounded, or by-passing the queues in CRI. If a visit to the Infirmary was impractical, then there was no problem treating us elsewhere, and I can remember having stitches inserted by him in both Cardiff Sports and Social, and the Cameo. Dave also contributed by re-filling the medical bag on a regular basis, and continued to do so long after his retirement, even though there were no doctors left to utilise the equipment. I remember talking with Dave once about the club, and he saying how much the club meant to him, even though he wasn’t a Welsh speaker, and how he hoped he’d be able to continue to contribute even after he stopped playing. And that’s what has indeed happened. Even though he’s a busy man, he remains in his position as club president, and is still regularly involved with the vets. His association with the club has been longer than most.

Among the others who wore the number 4 or 5 shirt was Arnold James, or Archie as he was known to all. He was welcomed to the club as some sort of returning son, once rumour had it that he was coming to the Capital. I think we assumed that we would never lose a lineout again, such was his presence and experience in the second row. Under the circumstances, it was always going to be difficult for him, and I never felt we saw the best of him on the field. I have a recollection of him being injured early in his club career, and I don’t think he fully recovered from this.

Archie’s main contribution, therefore, was on the training field. I remember discussion with the rest of the committee, the possibility of him taking on the coaching duties, and presuming that he would have little interest. Fortunately, there was a small crowd of Tregaron boys playing at the time, and this may have given him the incentive of taking on the role. As it turned out, the two or three seasons in which he was the coach were some of the most successful and enjoyable, and the coaching sessions themselves were always organised and beneficial. He was helped, perhaps, by the fact that we trained in the excellent facilities at Llys Talybont, at 7.30 on a Wednesday, with a perfect playing surface, showers and so on. There was hardly any excuse for not training, but Archie’s commitment supported this. He was also, of course, an important social member, especially on tour. His contribution both in Leuven and in Cwmtillery was memorable, and although I can’t find room for him in this team, I would certainly involve him in some capacity off the field.

And there have been others. Who could ever forget the contribution of Stumpy’s friend, Tudor, who soon became known as Scud(missile), following a match against Cathays, when he brushed aside the opposition as though they were little children. He wasn’t the tallest of players, but he had strength, and was an invaluable runner for us. It was a pity that we were unable to persuade him to stay with us longer, but we always knew that he could play at a higher level, and bore no grudges when he moved on.

Perhaps the most effective second row partnership was that between Matt Trewella and Martin Powell. Martin must surely be the tallest player in the club’s history, and I’d be surprised if there was a more popular player either. He was the club’s gentle giant, if ever there was one, which probably did him no favours when he came face to face with some of the city nutters. His primary sport was cricket, and I think he soon realised that playing rugby for Clwb was going to do his cricket no good whatsoever. And who, having seen him batting, could blame him for hanging up his boots. I remember one innings, when we were batting second in an 18 over match, chasing around 170-180 to win. With one over to bowl, we were about 20 runs short, and Martin was unbeaten on about 110. Having scored some 15 from the first 5 deliveries, we needed just one more boundary to win the game. He failed, but only after scoring the best part of 130 of our total in an unbelievable knock. On the rugby field, he was less destructive, but was still the source of much good lineout ball.

I was injured when it was rumoured that Matt was planning to join the club. He was a friend of Andy Edwards, and we understood that he had quite a rugby pedigree, having played for Bath at some level. On this basis, it’s hard to believe that we chose him initially in the seconds, and that he remained there for some weeks. I think Andy, second team captain at the time, kept things quiet for as long as he could, in an effort to retain him in the seconds as long as possible. His debut for the firsts came in a game against Cardiff Harlequins, at a time when he still hadn’t decided on a club to join full time. A match against the Quins, with their excellent facilities, and with us not playing to our best standard, was cause for concern, as we knew that it was quite possible that he would see them as a better club to join. But with this fear in the backs of our minds, as so often happened with the club, we raised our performance to a new level for the afternoon. It was good feeling coming off the field – it was always good beating the Quins, and I think Matt realised how important it had been for us. From that day onwards, there was only one club he was going to play for while he was in Cardiff.

On the field, he developed into a highly committed player, who was available every weekend. His lineout work was excellent, and this generally made him an obvious target for his opponents in Cardiff. No matter how much provocation, though, he’d continue to steal opposition ball, and contribute around the field. Matt was another example of someone who could really have played at a much higher level, but remained at the club because of the style of play, and the social element that the club promoted. Off the field, he was a popular character, and another good tourist, and his loss was felt when he left to work in Tenerife.

As years went by, there were others, some who were drafted into the second row in an emergency. Back in the eighties, there was Dai Gutsy, one who represented the club on tour in Luxembourg, in spite of the fact that he was suffering from gout. He was a good teacher on the field, who had developed the “Dafydd Idris/clwb rygbi flat ball to the front, and come up with a radical alternative. As Brian was about to throw, if Dai raised his outside arm, it meant he wanted a lobbed throw instead of the flat one. It was simply years ahead of its time! Who could forget Nef Lloyd, the seconds enthusiastic second row of the eighties, who also fancied himself as a bit of an Allan Martin, though I don’t remember much success for him as a kicker.And what about Huw Phillips, Meurig’s elder brother, who provided bulk and experience, or even Jon Green, he of around 6 feet 5 inches, who weighed in at about 10 stone. Jon was just beginning to prove himself as an asset to the firsts, when he broke or dislocated his shoulder one afternoon down at Llandaff. Neither Jon, nor the shirt he was wearing, was ever seen again!

More recently, we have seen the likes of Chris Jones, and Rhys Lloyd in the powerhouse, and Rhys outdid most of his predecessors by performing second team captaincy duties for 2 seasons. Rhys would extend his contribution to the club by running the cricket team for several seasons.

But in order to fill the two vacant positions in this team, I’m going to pick one obvious candidate, and one out of his normal back row position, mainly due to our strength there, but also because he could have played anywhere. When Rhidian Lloyd accepted the captaincy back in the nineties, he went about trying to attract new talent to the club. I would never have given it the same effort, and his main target was Neil Cole, at that stage playing with Llandaff. Let’s be honest, at the time, the club had little to offer, other than a healthy team spirit, and an entertaining style of play. I remember training that summer, and assuming that as soon as the season started, Neil would head back to Llandaff. While playing cricket that summer in Llandaff, I actually saw Neil training with Llandaff, which re-enforced my view. I had no real concerns about it at the time – if he preferred to play for Llandaff, so be it. The club was bigger than one individual.

Fortunately, Rhidian stuck to his guns, and Neil became a Clwb player. From that point onwards, nobody influenced the club more, nor was there anyone who gained more respect from his colleagues. He was, and continues to be, a role model to all. His first few matches were interesting, to say the least. One of his first matches was against Llanrumney up in Trelai, and, literally minutes into the game, one of their players fell on our side of the ruck. While the rest of us were pussyfooting around, trying not to lay a boot on him, so Neil was dancing on his back, giving him a right shoeing. I doubt that any of the Llanrumney boys had come across anything like it when playing us, but to be fair to Neil, although he received a proper telling off, he’d managed to make his point.

As a lock, you’d expect him to have been a lineout expert. But with the advent of lifting, he was not the greatest exponent, and being a big man, he wasn’t easy to lift. As a result, his responsibility changed, and he became the key lifter, with Dyfrig being the main liftee as a result. I’m sure Dyfs would acknowledge Neil’s contribution in making him such a strong lineout player. For the first time in many years too, we had a second row, who not only had the right physique for the position, but who matched it with technique too. I was interested to see on one occasion after I’d finished playing, the impact he might have made had he been able to play in the back row. I recall a match in Tondu when he played at number 8, and it was fascinating to see how well he read the game, and how he could time his passing and distribution so well.

Off the field, he played a huge part in the club’s social calendar. He was one of those who insisted that we all, younger players included, spent time in the Cameo bonding after every game. We had one memorable night in St Mellons on the way back from a cup victory, where Neil’s presence and persistence ensured that we spent time together as a team before going our separate ways. He was also a fit man, who’d commit himself to training alone outside the club’s normal training nights, meaning that he maintained a level of fitness greater than most of his colleagues. After a few seasons, he accepted the coaching position within the club, and again, his commitment ensured that others made that extra effort to train on a regular basis.

Neil has been, without question, the most influential figure in this club for the past seven or eight seasons, and this team would benefit from his presence both on and off the pitch.

Selecting a back row for this team will be difficult enough, so I allow myself the opportunity to make it easier, by selecting Gareth Hall in the second row. The truth is that Gareth could have been selected in any one of half a dozen positions, either in the forwards or the backs, but selecting him here just releases the pressure elsewhere.

Gareth joined the club following his brother into adult rugby. I’d heard about him as one of the Glantaf school team who’d beaten Llanhari the year after I’d left, but I’d not met him until he was selected to play for the firsts in a cup game against St Albans. He’d been on tour with the boys the previous season, and had created such an impression that as soon as he’d returned to Cardiff for the following Easter, he was thrown straight into the cup team. It’s hard to believe now that I was disappointed with him that first evening – in hindsight, I’d probably been led to expect too much. During the course of the next 10 years, Gareth would prove himself time and time again.

When he returned from college, he went straight into the first team back row, and it was immediately apparent that a special talent had joined us. He and John Hayes were a perfect combination, with each motivating and inspiring the other. I remember that during one season, we had a regular “supporter”, an old man who came week after week to Llandaff in spite of the fact he had no connection with us, simply because he approved of our style of play. Gareth and John were the main reasons for this interest. The confidence these two brought to the rest of the squad was simply immense. We knew that if we received a long kick-off, we could expect Gareth to drop back to support Eryl, or whoever was at full-back, and were all fully confident that his running intentions would be successful, even from our own 22. The same would apply with a conventional kick-off return, where we front five would gather and set up, and Gareth would appear either inside or outside the outside half to counter attack. On the days when this worked well, it was a joy to be part of the team, and, I dare say, a joy to watch.

It’s hard to believe, when I consider this, that Gareth never won the player of the year award. I can only think that we tended to select players for this award for their continuous standard of play for a whole season. Gareth had a tendency to take a Sabbatical most seasons, when he’d lose the enthusiasm for play, and take time off with some minor injuries cropping up. During these periods, he could be quite selective about which matches he wanted to play in. I should point out that this selectiveness wasn’t simply related to any fear associated with playing some teams. The reality was that these “when the chips are down” sorts of games were the ones in which he thrived, and seemed to raise his game yet further. I put his sabbaticals down quite simply to a more general feeling of boredom with the game from time to time.

I guess it was this need for a change which drove him to convert himself into a centre. My initial feeling was that this was a waste of his talents, but I could also see that this had the potential to renew his enthusiasm for the game, and besides that, I was happy to see him with any number on his back, so long as he was playing. I hardly need to say what an impact he had in his new position. One early season match against Llanrumney in Trelai, when Llanrumney were at their strongest, gave us the perfect opportunity to see him at his best. Three times in the first quarter of an hour, Gareth had broken through cleanly creating tries for both himself and Angus. He had the ability to beat his man, and of course had the speed to take advantage of this, but also had the knack of timing when it came to distributing it too.

Playing with Gareth was a pleasure, and I could write about him endlessly. There are probably 5 positions in which I could have selected him, and I only pick him in the second row because it makes the rest of the team that much easier. We played one cup match against Rogerstone, during which we had struggled to retain our lineout ball. Towards the end of the game, with the result still in the balance, we had a defensive line within our own 22, and Gareth took it upon himself to march from the rear to the middle of the line. He called for the ball to be thrown to him, and soared to gather it two-handed – it was the cleanest take of the afternoon, allowing us to clear our lines and go on to win the game. This allows me to justify my selecting him in the second row.

Having put the front five to rest, so begins the task of looking at he back row. This is perhaps the most difficult position to resolve, and it’s hard enough to know where to start. One of the most popular characters of the eighties was Dai Lewis, one for whom I had a lot to thank for. Early in my career, I’d been dropped from the firsts, and had been selected for the seconds in a match against Cardiff HSOB, as they were then. The firsts’ match had been cancelled, and as a result, a number of the first team players came to watch our game, which gave me an opportunity to prove a point. The match was quite tight, and we’d squandered a number of opportunities as Nef Lloyd’s kicks at goal landed nearer the Taff than the posts. As a youngster, I didn’t have the confidence to point out that I’d spent the past 4 or five years kicking in school, so I elected to have a quiet word with Dai to make this point. When the next penalty was awarded, Dai pounced on the ball and announced that we should give the youngster an opportunity. I was relatively successful, and was able to display another facet of my game to win back the selectors votes.

As a player, Dai was one of the team’s real competitors. No matter how far behind we may have been, Dai continued to put in no less than 100% until the final seconds. He always reminded me of Ian Kirkpatrick, the way he ran in an upright manner, with a straight back. I’ll never forget one visit to play the students in Cyncoed, when we’d heard that we would be playing against one of the young stars of the future, one Garmon Emyr. A decade or so later, he’d be representing the club, but at the time, he was a youngster, playing in direct opposition to Dai, who was approaching the twilight of his career. Dai may have felt that he had something to prove that day, because he proceeded to play out of his skin, continually reaching the breakdown first. Part of the fun for Dai was his ability to wind-up Garmon. As each ruck or maul formed, so Dai would be muttering at Garmon words to the effect of “are you only arriving here now?” and “ I’d heard that you were a good player, but here am I, an old man, reaching every breakdown before you,” and so on. It was a perfect example of Dai’s competitive nature, linked in to the humour he brought to the game too. He was the type of player I was always glad to have on my side.

Around the same time, Huw Charles ruled the roost on the blind side of the scrum. Charlie was another different style player, one who would rarely be seen racing upfield with the ball beneath his arms, but more likely found at the bottom of a ruck, or tidying up loose ball. This created a fine balance between himself and the flyers like Huw Hall and John Shotton. Butchie was used to receiving scrappy ball at the best of times, and he would have received a good bit more had it not been for Charlie picking up the scraps. He captained the side for two seasons, and his willingness to put his body on the line was a lesson to us all, and an inspiration to the rest of us to do the same.
Charlie was also partly responsible for integrating me further within the club’s social scene. Following one match, he asked me why I never joined the rest of the boys out on the town on a Saturday, leaving me with little option than to join with him that night, and for many subsequent Saturdays. I am probably still suffering as a result of those Saturdays, when gallon after gallon of Strongbow would disappear.

The most similar player to him over the years would have been Llyr Williams, another who was quite happy to see the glory boys taking the plaudits, while he secured the ball on the floor. You’d never expect to see Llyr appear outside the wingers to collect a scoring pass, but you could bet your bottom dollar that he will have been responsible for winning the ball in the first place. There are two matches which come to mind when thinking about Llyr. There was one match we played against Nash, at which time Llyr’s position was under threat, due mainly to our traditional back row strength. That day, Llyr had one of those games when everything went in his favour. If Nash were on the attack, John, for example, would start racing wide to cover the wingers, but on this day, they always cut back inside and ran into Llyr. Whenever there was a maul, somehow, it was always Llyr who came out with the ball, and though I can’t remember precisely, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was responsible for winning most of the lines that day too. To be fair, I think Llyr was amazed at how well things went for him that day.

The second match which comes to mind was also a cup game, perhaps even the next round, when Hollybush came to Cardiff. They were clearly too strong for us on the day, and by the time we were half way through the second half, we were playing for pride alone. Some way into the half, Hollybush were awarded a free kick in midfield, which they decided to run. One of their big forwards took possession, and was moving like a train when I realised he was coming towards me. I was just beginning to work out how I could avoid this giant, when Llyr appeared in front of me to tackle him head on. It was another case of an irresistible force meeting immovable object, and there was a fearful sound at the moment of impact. It was no surprise that Llyr was helped from the pitch, and I thought he must have suffered a serious injury. Fortunately, he was back on his feet after the match, and I think he still managed to watch the Wales game that afternoon. I was grateful to him for the whole weekend!

In contrast to the likes of Charlie and Llyr, the nineties brought two equally effective, but more lightweight flankers to our midst. Aled Arch was another of the unfortunate back row players who suffered as a result of our strength in that position. He didn’t have the size to fit into the second row, and so was a regular second team fixture, but it was a reassurance to know that we had players like him who could be drafted into the firsts when we needed them. Rhys Angell was another similar player – one who contributed heavily for the seconds, but never let the firsts down when selected there. Both Aled and Rhys offered the club something different, perhaps in the style of Neil Back as opposed to Scott Quinnell. There was something about the two of them which resulted in neither taking a step backwards against any opposition player, no matter what size they were, and this may have been partly responsible for Rhys taking the decision to be the first club member to wear a scrum cap while playing.

So who else has been in the back row over the years? How about John Shotton, the Jean-Pierre Rives of his time, flying off the back of the scrum. There were a number of others who spent most of their time in the seconds, but like Aled and Rhys, would have made their mark in the firsts had they been given the opportunity to do so. Amongst these were Dai Boobier, Leighton James and Panda (Andrew Evans?). Another back row man was Rhidian John, who was a first teamer who went about his business consistently from week to week, without standing out like some of the others. He was a classic example to the rest of us of someone who extended his career season after season simply because he insisted on keeping fit, no matter how much hard work and commitment he had to put in to achieve this. And what about Gareth Wilkins, one of the most consistent players, but also one of the quietest on the field, whose main claim to fame would be his production of the Wheel of Fortune annually on tour. The other fact about Gareth which sticks in the mind, is that he never owned a proper kit bag. He’d reach the club with his kit stuffed into a Tesco bag, with his boots falling out of the top. If it was a match of significance, he might bring an M+S bag, but this wasn’t often.

Gareth Hall was the most creative player I played with at the club, and the player who came closest to matching this would have been Richard Jenkins. I would have loved to have seen Richard play in the seventies, because all those who’d played with him said that he was outstanding. By the time I was starting out with the club, his pace had gone a little, but he still had the perfect understanding and reading of the game. Similarly to Gareth, he had the rugby brain to know what to do at the right time – if the ball needed to be kicked, he’d kick, if it needed a pass, he’d pass. I also remember his perfect timing of the pass. He wasn’t a big man, so he knew that it was in his interest to pass before contact in order to preserve his welfare, as opposed to driving into the opposition. I have clear recollections of his perfect timing of the pass.

More recently, a number of others have filled the back row positions. Garmon Emyr played for about a season, and when he was in the right frame of mind, there were few better ball-carriers. One of the fittest was Andy Edwards, who is still around, and then the was Rob Thomas, or Rob Cathays as he was known to us all. Another one who’s still around is Dave Burrows, and of course we had Eifion Green in our midst for a year or so before he disappeared to Mid Wales. And then there was Chrissy Boy, whose name I never learned(he looked like Chris Evans), and who was responsible for scoring the very last try which I was involved in with the club before my sudden demise.
Many of these players would have contributed to this team, and their contribution over the years helped keep the club alive. But having weighed up the merits of all the candidates, selecting a back row is actually not very difficult.

I’ve already summarised John Hayes’ contribution elsewhere, and there isn’t a great deal I can add. He could have played in any position in the back row, combining vision, strength and speed to form the perfect flanker. He also had that extra element which made him stand out above his peers, and that was his unquenchable will to win. He wasn’t one who would accept coming second in anything, and he had a competitive instinct from the first minute to the last. On those infrequent occasions when he’d drop a pass, or miss a tackle, a frustrated cry would come forth in annoyance with himself.

On the other side of the scrum, I would have the elder Hall Williams brother, Huw. When Huw re-joined the club in around 1985, he was still playing on the wing. I remember his first game back, against St. Josephs, Newport, and he scored two tries that afternoon. A number of the boys had been looking forward to his return, and after that afternoon, I knew why. I never found out whose idea it was to move him into the pack, but it was soon very apparent that it was an inspired choice. On the wing, Huw had natural speed, but also had great strength too, which was wasted rather as the ability to use these strengths was dependent on our winning him some ball. On the flank, there was no need for him to wait for the ball – he was quick enough, and had a active enough rugby brain to ensure that he was in the right place dictate when he took possession. This combination was perfect in allowing him to fly from the base of the scrum, to ensure that we retained our own ball, and also that he was in a position to pinch opposition second phase ball. He had the speed of a flyer, but the strength of a blindside, which regularly allowed him to breach the first line of defence.

Comparing Huw with a present day figure is difficult, though I guess that Colin Charvis is the closest I can come up with(as a player, of course!). He matured into a captain who would lead by example, and I, for one, was hugely disappointed when he left Cardiff again a season or two later. I’d always felt that he’d make a good coach when his playing days were over. On top of all this, he was, similarly to so many of our players through the years, a really nice bloke with a terrific competitive streak.

And so to the number eight between John and Huw. Again, this is a fairly simple decision, though I need to cast my mind back a few years to remember this player. Ieuan Lloyd was our number eight in my first season with the club, and I only had the pleasure of being in the same team as him for one season, before a shoulder injury brought his career to an end. Perhaps the worst thing about his early retirement was that he took up coaching duties. At the time, still only around 20, I was pretty fit, but I felt for some of the older boys who weren’t in the best of condition, and it was no surprise that Wyn Lewis labelled him Dr Mengele. If you picture Llandaff Fields, above the pitch and putt course, where the path leads towards Howells School, there is a steep slope of grass. At the end of our pre-season training sessions that year, Ieuan would march us to the slope, and, not satisfied with asking us to run up the slope, he’d have us doing so with people on our backs. You can imagine the numbers of excuses as we walked over there.

But we shouldn’t remember Ieuan as a coach. As a player, I saw nobody who could pick up and drive so well from the back of the scrum. John Hayes would use his speed as well when picking up from the base, while Ieuan depended more on brute force. He’d drive with such a low shoulder that the opposition found him very difficult bring down, and it was always a pleasure to rise from a scrum to see how much ground he’d gained. I suppose it would be easy nowadays to compare him with Scott Quinnell, though he never carried that much weight. Another area where these two players differ, was their contribution in the lineout. Ieuan was a master at the back of the line, in the days before lifting was allowed. He was experienced enough to know that some subtle use of the inside arm was going to be profitable, and this allowed us to capitalise fully on Brian’s throwing accuracy.

If we are going to take this team seriously, Ieuan would provide one other significant benefit, that being his instinct to “look after” his colleagues. Some of the pretty boys in the team would no doubt run fruitfully with the ball, but they might be dependent on Ieuan’s presence to prevent the opposition taking too many liberties. He certainly had no qualms about looking after himself no matter what he had to take in return.

Before we take a look at the backs, how about some consideration for some of the all-rounders of the past few years, the types of players without whom we would never have been able to survive. Someone like Geraint Roberts, or Skip as he was to everyone, immediately comes to mind. The first time I met Geraint was one Saturday in Morganstown, watching the club play sevens. My first thought was that he may have been one of the boys’ fathers. I didn’t realise at the time how much he would contribute to the club, both as player and an organiser, over the course of the following years. Most will remember him as the seconds captain, or as the vets’ organiser for many years. My recollection is more of an individual who was prepared to put himself out if it meant a game going ahead. Of course, with us, that normally meant someone who was willing to prop, and Geraint performed this without complaint for many seasons. Even when I’d finished playing, he was still there willing to contribute when we were short.

Personally, though, his main sacrifice came some years ago in a match against Llanrumney. We’d had a tough season in the front row, as Dai had gone to Aber for the year, and it seemed to be a case of Kevin plus anyone on a weekly basis. On this occasion up in Tremorfa, Kevin was unavailable too, and we simply couldn’t find any recognised props to fill in. We had the option of postponing the game, but it was a league game, and we weren’t sure what penalty it would bring. Further to this, it was at the end of the season, and Llanrumney needed a win to progress into the Glamorgan League for the following season. Things looked grim.

We therefore contacted our two “last resort” props, Geraint and Clive Waldron. Clive was another flanker cum second row cum prop if it means the game goes ahead, another of the popular club members who never trained, but was always worth a last minute phone call. His contribution to the club extended to him being the club’s first sponsor, as we saw Lluniau Lliw appearing proudly on our shirts. On this occasion in Tremorfa, both Clive and Geraint were available, so we made the decision to play, despite having little chance of victory.

As we warmed up, we agreed that it was imperative that we protected our scrum at all times, so that they were infrequent set-pieces. I remember marching up and down the changing room preaching that we must eliminate all errors which would result in a scrum…no knock-ons, no crooked lines out, and so forth. We won the toss, and walked positively to the halfway line to chase the kick off. The referee’s whistle blew, and I remember vividly seeing Rhidian’s kick sailing out of play on the full. “We’ll have a scrum on halfway, please ref”, came the shout, meaning that within 30 seconds of the start, we were scrummaging for the first time. The next 79 minutes were hard, but you can bet your life that we didn’t hear a squeak of complaint from either prop.

Another similar type was John Cronin. John was unquestionably the tallest prop we ever had, and had been a regular in the second row until he agreed to prop on one occasion, and ended up doing so for the rest of his days. A similar individual was Paul Thomas, who, although built more like a prop, certainly considered himself a second row. Paul was one of the few players who was playing when I joined the club who was still playing when I retired. He was a gentle and mild character, and it amazes me that I once remember him losing his rag in a seconds game many years ago – not significantly, but he certainly lost his temper. Paul’s career was extended following a season or two refereeing. I can’t imagine what must have gone through his mind trying to control some of Cardiff and District’s nutters, and it was no great surprise that he soon packed in his whistle to start playing again. At around the same time, Chris Pickles was playing too. In several seasons playing with him, I never really worked out what position Chris thought was his best – I remember him playing at scrum half, but I can also recall him in the front row too.

More recently, a multi skilled performer joined the club. Martin Grundy had joined with the Clwb Ifor crowd, and his contribution would be as great as any of those who joined at that time. He was most naturally a flanker, but as the seasons wore on, he crept further and further up the scrum. I always felt that one of my strengths was a willingness to put my body on the line. I was quite proud of this, but Martin’s commitment put mine completely in the shade. The memory of him receiving a proper shoeing at the feet of BP is clear, but his response would be little more than “All in a day’s work”. Perhaps the clearest image I have of him, though, was the day he sat down with me and the captain at the time, Meurig perhaps, and volunteered to become a permanent prop, because he could see that we had strength in the back row, and a shortage of players in the front. Having just about come to terms with his new role, work commitments took him away to the States.

Another who made the move from the backs to the forwards, like Huw Hall, was Dyfrig Parri. Dyfrig had been a good centre in his time, before injuring himself quite badly while training at Llandaff fields. At the time, it seemed likely that his career would be brought to an end, and he didn’t play for a year or two. When he returned to action, somehow he was selected in the back row for a game against Whitchurch at Caedelyn. I clearly remember his first test during that game. As a back, and with a back’s instinct, I doubted he would have the bravery to make a good forward. During the course of that match, a long throw sailed over our heads at the back of the line, and I could see that Dyfs was going to reach the ball at about the same time as the opposition centre, who was preparing to fly-hack the ball. “Fall on it” was my instruction, and as soon as I saw him launch himself at the centre’s feet, I knew that a worthy forward had joined us. When lifting in the lines became the norm, Dyfrig’s contribution up front became immense, as someone light enough to lift, but with the ball skills to take advantage of this.

As someone whose career seemed over a decade ago, his continued presence is remarkable, and I can only think of him and Dafydd Emyr who represented the club in the eighties, and was still playing in 2000. The difference is that Dafydd didn’t play at all in the nineties!! During this period, I wonder how many pairs of shorts Dyfrig has destroyed?

Another player who has been around during the past few years is Rob Dayton-Jones, whose main claim to fame came during the cup match in Porthmadog. As the only sub, it was inevitable that he’d get a game, and he was plastered in Vaseline on the touchline waiting for his chance. And did the chance come? Of course not. It was one of those few occasions when we got through the whole 80 minutes completely unscathed.

But if I’m going to mention the most versatile player of all, we need look no further than Alun Coch (Evans). I first met Alun when we were training at Llys Talybont. Alun trained regularly, but at the time, didn’t play. Personally, I used to go through the motions a bit during training sessions, especially during the semi-opposed sessions at the end. After all, it was cold and wet sometimes! Alun, on the other hand, took training very seriously, making big tackles and running strongly, so his first impression on me wasn’t that positive.

This impression altered as soon as he started playing for the club. You could tell that he was a good rugby player, and there was some talk that he’d played for the Welsh schoolboys team, or something similar. It was handy in those early days, that he seemed happier representing the seconds than the firsts, but as time wore on, he became more and more in demand for the firsts, and in more than one position. It wasn’t uncommon to see him playing on the wing for the first one weekend, and then propping for the seconds the following one, or flanking one week, and a centre the next. His contribution was huge, be that to the firsts or the seconds. Those of us who played with him will have one clear vision of him, and that would be one of him catching the ball. Had someone invented one handed rugby as a sport, he would have captained his country, and I felt sure he played with the philosophy of “why use two hands when one will do?”.

So, on to the glory boys, the backs. To be honest, and though it pains me to say so, there were many matches which we should have lost, which were won purely because of the skills of our backs. Every other team in the district recognised that we always had the potential to be dangerous opponents because we had a set of backs who could create something out of nothing. It was always a pleasure watching them handle the ball, both for me as a forward, but also I’m sure for anyone watching our games. I took great pride in the fact that the name of Clwb Rygbi was synonymous with running, open rugby. One afternoon after I’d finished playing, I entered into a conversation with the coach of Caerau Ely, and we debated the strengths of either side. His view, and I could hardly disagree, was that had we been able to combine his pack with our backs, we would have had a side as good as any in the country at this level.

So who have we had wearing the number 9 shirt over the years, linking the weak pack with the talented backs. When I joined the club, Huw Davies, Butchie to us all, was captain and scrum half. Butchie had originally been a winger, who progressed into the scrum half position, and subsequently returned to the wing later in his career. His main assets were his speed, and his willingness and acknowledgement that he was going to receive a fair amount of bad possession. The fact that he knew the club’s style and weaknesses may have helped in this respect, as later scrum halfs, who joined from other clubs, had an expectation of a lineout which would be taken cleanly with two hands, before a driving maul was set up. Butchie, being more realistic, knew that he would be lucky to receive any ball at all, and that which came his way was likely to be a wayward tap being chased down by the opposition flankers. Butchie’s main claim to fame for the club was his memorable try down in Tregaron, when he broke free and scored from a distance.

As his playing career came to an end, I was lucky enough to captain the club while he coached for two seasons, and his presence helped me come to terms with my new responsibilities. He still made some cameo appearances during this period, before he took the step of setting up and running the veterans team, the CROCCS. It was a sad day therefore when his career came to an end once and for all, following a nasty injury suffered while representing the CROCCS.

As Butchie moved out to the wing, so another scrum half arrived, Terry Jones, unsurprisingly know to all as Terry Bach. He was your stereotype scrum half, fleet of foot, quick pass, and loads of mouth. He wasn’t much older than me, and he taught me a lot about back row play, as I’d moved back there following Ieuan Lloyd’s retirement. He was always good for raising team spirit, and was a prominent entertainer on a Saturday night.

Terry was primarily responsible for devising one of those simple back row moves which worked first time. We were on the bus travelling down to Pontyates for an evening kick-off under lights, and he and I were talking tactics. He suggested that if we were awarded a scrum on the left hand side of the field, anywhere near half way, I should pick up at the back of the scrum, go blind, backing into the opposition scrum half, and pop it up to him. He would then draw their winger, and free Emyr Jones for the run-in. It was a simple ploy, but I hardly expected it to work. Of course, some way into the second half, we won a scrum in the optimum position. Brian struck, and the ball arrived at my feet. I picked up, went left as planned, and popped up to Terry, who drew the last line of defence, before passing to Emyr who raced under the posts. It was perfect, and in spite of the simplicity, I never remember the move working again. It seems strange that this event has stuck in my memory so long. Either strange or sad!

More recently, a similar, though more aggressive, player joined the ranks, Steve Wilshaw. I remember the first time I saw Steve playing was for the seconds at Llandaff fields, and he played like someone who had something to prove, showing up everywhere on the pitch. After progressing to the firsts, his competitive and aggressive instinct gave us a real boost on those unfortunate days when we had to travel to the likes of Barry Plastics. But it was very evident that Steve was a winner, who was clearly frustrated by the fact that our pack was never likely to be strong enough to allow him to win anything of note. It was a pity, as Steve was the type of player we needed in that position, and we were all hugely disappointed when he decided to quit the club, and even more so upon realising that he was planning to join Fairwater.

Phil James arrived at the club following the disbandment of Clwb Ifor’s team. Inevitably, our initial pleasure was of seeing the likes of Robin and Grundy, as forwards, but it wasn’t long before we all realised that Phil had a lot to offer too. He was a simple organised scrum half, unlikely to sprint clear from 50 metres, but more than willing to put his body on the line, and tackle oncoming forwards. Personally, I hadn’t paid a huge amount of attention to him until we travelled to Treforest to play the Poly. That evening, for some reason, it dawned on me that he might make a really good club captain, and it proved the following season. A similar type of player, at around the same time, was Dai Morris. They both had plenty to say for themselves, though I think that Dai was perhaps the more natural player of the two – Phil would also have made a good forward. It was unfortunate that we had two good scrum halfs at the same time, and it was no great surprise to see Dai moving on once Phil was elected captain. His contribution to St Peters on and off the field was great, and we missed his contribution in this respect for some time. It was fortunate that his contact with the club was retained by means of his attendance on tour each season, even after having left the club.

And what of the others, players like Gareth Harvey, neat and tidy, and always making the right decisions, none better, perhaps, than the one to stop playing given the nature of some of our opponents. Or how about Pete Rowlands, a quiet doctor, whose hair colour matched Stumpy’s, and like Stumpy, had an alarming turn of pace. Back in the eighties, a player of a different mould again, Wyn Bach Davies, a classical scrum half who bridged the forwards and backs in a no-nonsense manner, or how about Alun Humphries, or Huw Chiswell, who had strength and speed, and an inclination to take on the opposing back row. These two could perhaps be considered the club’s Terry Holmes and Robert Jones types of the eighties.

As we head back to the nineties, how about Rhys Jones (Bala), who remains in the memory for primarily for being sick. The first time was following his election to drink a yard of ale at a clubhouse in City Rd ( Cardiff Saracens, maybe). Rhys drank some of the beer, before regurgitating what he’d drunk tidily back into the yard. He then started drinking it again, which was not a pleasant sight. I missed the second occasion, when he was concussed during a match, but I heard that he was violently sick on the touchline, before trying to get back onto the field. Apparently, Stumpy was assigned the task of making sure he didn’t get back onto the pitch. As a player, Rhys was, like many of his predecessors, willing to tidy poor ball, and make good before distributing. Before moving on, a word for Andy Lade, whose first appearance at a training session had us believing that a new prop had arrived, until he told us that he was a scrum half. Andy was, perhaps, not the best scrum half we had over the years, but he did commit himself fully to every game, be that in the firsts or the seconds, and he also became a prominent social organiser, who had useful connections with the management of the Horse and Groom.

Which leaves us with two outstanding scrum halfs, who are difficult to separate. On the bench, therefore, I’ve gone for Dave Jones. I’m not quite sure how Dave joined the club, but it wasn’t long before we knew we had a special player amongst us. He was a strong and powerful player, who enjoyed running with the ball, but also had the traditional scrum half assets of speed, the ability to pass and kick, and also plenty of self confidence. He was perhaps a bit too sensible to be playing at this level, and I can imagine that he must have witnessed a whole load of nonsense occurring before his eyes. It was no great surprise, then, that he eventually decided one end-of-season, that he’d prefer to spend his weekends safely on Radyr golf course than putting his wellbeing on the line at Ely or Sully. His final contribution on the field came out in Brest, and it was perhaps appropriate that he decided that this was the ideal time to call it a day – we’d had a great trip, and I was conscious that Dave had enjoyed himself immensely. It was the ideal time to quit.

Dave was a talkative player on the pitch, but a quiet person off it. Our number one scrum half could be categorised in the same way. Several years on, it’s difficult to recall exactly what Gwydion Lewis’s main attributes were, and I can’t recall a single try or blistering break to support my selection, but I do remember that there was something special about him. He was quiet and unassuming, but was a fantastic link between forwards and backs. He only represented the club for about half a season, but those of us who travelled to Newtown for the cup match all knew that his injury changed the course of the game. He had all the simple skills, he was sharp, had a long, snap pass which enabled the backs that extra split second to consider their moves, and he had a mature rugby brain. This enabled him to react quickly, and to foresee what was about to happen, thus allowing him to prepare for the eventuality. His loss up in Newtown was enormous, as we had started strongly, and had the home team pinned inside their 22. We were wining good ball up front, and Gwydion was releasing Dafydd Emyr so quickly, he in turn had the time to gain huge amounts of ground with his powerful boot. The game of course, turned on its head in that one instant. Gwydion’s injury interrupted our flow, and we failed to regain the momentum we’d built up in that first 20 minutes or so. As I say, I can’t put my finger on the reason why, but I have no doubt that Gwydion would wear the number 9 shirt in this team.

My selection at outside half is influenced by my choices in the centre. Having decided that I would choose two solid centres, I elected to look at a running outside half. On this basis, Meurig Phillips fails to make my team, which is a pity given his contribution to the club over the years. We may have thought of Meurig as a bit of a Neil Jenkins, an outstanding kicker of the ball, but one who was less happy running with it, but that is of course too simplistic. He was, no doubt, an outstanding kicker, be it from the hand or from the ground. I lost track of the number of times that I rose from a defensive scrum to see the ball sailing half way down the field over the head of an astonished fullback, or the number of times he’d add another three points to our total with a monster penalty from halfway. These are the events which tend to stick in the memory, along with those occasional days when his kicking didn’t go to plan, instead of memories of him running the ball, or at least spotting the opportunity to run, and releasing the backs. In spite of being the best kicker I saw at the club, he understood the club’s ethos of running the ball, and was perhaps shrewd enough to realise that this was likely to be our best route to success.

Off the field, his contribution was huge too. He captained the side for two seasons, and I remember his commitment in leading training sessions at Glantaf in the absence of a coach. His fitness and leadership was a lesson to us all. On top of this, there was nobody in the club ranks who could make me laugh like him, with his childish, Viz-like humour, and willingness to crack a joke at anyone’s expense. Nevertheless, in spite of all the above, he’s still not wearing the number 10 shirt in this team!

A stand off of a different style was Huw Jones. Huw returned to the club in the mid-eighties for a couple of seasons, before injury, the worst I ever witnessed on the pitch, brought his career to an end. The match was being played against the students of Cyncoed, down at Llandaff, when Huw broke his leg. The fact that the match was abandoned with immediate effect shows the gravity of the injury. As I walked over to see Huw, who was lying on the floor in pain, Charlie simply intercepted me and told me that I would be advised not to see the injury – it was that bad.

On the pitch, Huw was another winner, who refused to accept anybody contributing less than 100%. During one of my first matches with him, I remember him marching up to a scrum, which was already set, and putting weight on my back, shouting “bend your legs….you’re too high…” In fairness, it was a reflection of the fact that his standards were high, and he wanted nothing less from his colleagues. There was also much fun to be had listening to his conversations with his brother, with Huw barking at Emyr, and Emyr, as the younger brother, refusing to take anything on board.

For some reason, one example of Huw’s play has remained in my memory for the past 20 years. We were playing up at Blaenavon Forgeside, and as usual, were under pressure. On this occasion, however, we were on the attack, when one of the defenders launched a clearance kick to about the halfway line. As we trotted back to support, so Huw arrived at the loose ball first, with nobody around him, other than one individual, Emyr perhaps, a long way over to Huw’s left. Huw was towards his right hand touchline, and three of the opposition players approached him. He made to throw a huge cross-field pass to Emyr, before holding onto the ball. The dummy was “bought” by the onrushing players, leaving Huw free to continue his progress down the blind side. Trying to put this in words is impossible, but the recollection of three Forgeside players being fooled stands clear in my memory. The Western Mail would have described it as an outrageous dummy, and so it was.

Steve Lewis, on the other hand, was a no-frills type of outside half, but one with excellent vision. He wasn’t a natural runner with the ball, but was one who understood that our strengths lay in the speed further out in the backs. In this respect, Steve was more of a linkman than some like Huw, either shipping the ball safely to those outside him, or kicking, again safely, into touch. In this respect, he differed from Meurig, who kicked long, but with an occasional tendency to miss touch, while Steve’s kicks, although invariably shorter, were generally safe. Steve was one of the least fortunate players in the squad, as he played the majority of the games for us during our fruitful “cup run” season, but was generally overlooked for the big games in favour of Dafydd Emyr. Steve deserved more than that, and I still sometimes feel he was hard done by. Dafydd, of course, was a completely different sort of player, who could have been the match winner in Newtown. He was big and strong, and we used his left boot to good effect to gain ground, and he also possessed bags of self-confidence which rubbed off on the rest of us. It was strange that in hindsight, I wondered whether Dafydd really had his heart in representing Clwb, maybe as a result of the fact that he had played at a higher level previously. By the time 2000 came around, so Daf had rejoined the club, and now, giving no less than 100% I realised that he was playing as well as I’d ever seen him play before.

When I joined the club, our outside half was Ieuan Walters, who was a no-frills player, very much in the mould of Steve Lewis. His contribution to the club was again huge, which was highlighted by his award one year for having represented the club on more occasions than anybody else in the club’s history. It’s a pity that nobody keeps these stats any longer to be able to calculate the contribution many individuals have made over the years. By the time Ieuan retired, so Wyn Thomas, a centre cum outside half had arrived on the scene. Wyn was the complete outside half, who read the game well, and who fed and kicked the ball effectively. It was sad that he disappeared west without having been able to say farewell to the club.

Some of the other who wore the number 10 shirt over the years were people like Nigel Harrington and Chris Price, a doctor who resembled Canada’s Gareth Rees in many respects. A year or two later came Caron Iolo, who resembled Wyn in many respects; plenty of self confidence, he read the game well, and always gave the impression of having time on his hands, which, given the type of ball he’d often receive, was a surprise. My most vivid memory of him is that of him and Stumpy sprinting the length of Llandaff fields exchanging passes during a pre-season training session.

Coming back closer to the present, one player who comes to mind who played invariably for the seconds, but who never let down the firsts, was Rupert Jones. Rupert was another of those players who played with a permanent smile on his face, even if he was being made the butt of any of the humour. During our Fantasy Rugby season, he abused his position at outside half, to the extent that he would try unlikely drop goals from any position, as he’d realised that dropping goals was the most profitable way to earn points in the fantasy scoring system. But it would be unfair to say that he didn’t take the game seriously. When the need arose, Rupert was more than capable of running the game, and would send the ball accurately down to “cow corner” with his left peg. His commitment to the club was highlighted a year or two after I’d finished playing, when Rupert turned up to watch a game at Llandaff dressed in his casual clothes. Angus was injured, and as usual, there were no subs to come on in his place, but it wasn’t long before Rupert changed into a pair of shorts and a sweaty shirt to ensure we had a full compliment of players again.

But having considered all the facts, my selection at outside half would have to be Rhidian Lloyd. Rhidian was similar in many respects to Huw Jones, and had I seen more of Huw play, I may have plumped for him instead. It was always a pleasure either playing with, or watching Rhidian play. He was calm and considered, read the game well, kicked accurately from hand, and was an elusive runner. He was usually the catalyst of our better performances, and was capable of running the show, or bringing the best out of the rest of us. It was disappointing that Rhidian left the club when he was approaching his peak, but unlike the situation with some of the others, I understood his reasons for moving on. He had captained the club during a difficult period when a number of the senior players had stopped playing, and general squad numbers were low, but he’d never allowed this to affect his commitment to his team.

Rhidian was also responsible for raising the status of the club, following his selection for the Welsh Districts team. I’ll never forget the match played a week or so before his first cap, where he was single-handedly trying to rescue a match which was lost, and received a fairly serious injury. He could have elected not to play that day, to ensure he would have been fit to play the International, but that would have meant letting down his team mates, and so he left the field that day with an injury which would jeopardise his cap. He probably shouldn’t have played in the International, but he did, bringing further recognition to the club. There were very few of the club’s players who had even made the effort to represent Cardiff and District, and so it was quite refreshing to see one of the boys trying to fulfil his talent. There may be a few former players who regret not having made the slightest effort to represent the district.

Rhidian left the club in an effort to play a higher standard of rugby, which was fair. He’d given us several years of commitment, and we all knew that the club would always be close to his heart. My only regret was that he elected to join Canton, where I suspected his running skills wouldn’t be utilised fully. Some of us old stagers also found it hard to swallow, as we still saw Canton as the local enemy, from their days playing on the pitch next to us. It was like a footballer moving from Liverpool to Everton!

And so on to the centres, of which there have been quite a few when you take into account the utility backs who’ve had an afternoon or two playing in the middle. I find it difficult to remember exactly who was playing there during my early seasons with the club, though, as there were numerous doctors in our ranks, it may be that it was the time of the two Andys, Bradley and James. They were both solid, reliable centres, whose greatest claim to fame came when Andy James was sent off during a match at Llandaff fields. The look on his face as he was sent to the showers, after brawling under one of the trees, was a sight to behold. Who would have believed that only another three or four players would join that select band of sent off players over the course of the next decade or so.

A few of the other centres during that period were the likes of Nigel Harrington and Mike Evans, who were both primarily second team players when I arrived, but who would willingly and ably fill in for the firsts when required. Tony Morgan and Beuno Hughes were two of the others generally involved in second team rugby in those early days, though Beuno, in particular, spent quite a bit of time in the firsts subsequently. I think that Beuno’s skills were generally underestimated, for he had good hands, and excellent vision. He understood when it was more prudent to kick than to run, and I also recall that, in spite of his smaller stature, he never shirked a tackle. I also remember that day against Whitchurch, when he attempted a reverse pass behind his back, which was promptly intercepted and we lost ground. All I could hear from the senior front row guys was a volley of abuse.

I can also think of two particularly unlucky centres. Matt Bryon was a youngster when he joined the club, and was a strong and penetrative runner. He had the skills to develop into someone who’d have been a first team regular for years to come, but he also had ambition, and a desire to play first team rugby instead of second. We, perhaps, underestimated this, and gave him limited first team opportunities, partly because we had a settled first team which we refused to alter, and eventually Matt’s patience ran out, and he did the equivalent of “going north”, by joining the Cymric football boys. It was our loss.

One of my colleagues virtually throughout my playing days with the club was Ifer Arch. Ifer was another of those players for whom I had a huge amount of respect. He seemed happy enough, year after year, to be in the seconds, no matter how many times he was sent to an away fixture with 12 players, or a team of youngsters, or a team with no front row. As the veteran of the team, no doubt the duties of explaining our predicament to the opposition was left in his hands. I would also hazard a guess that Ifer is the player who represented the club in the most different positions, with the second row being the only place I don’t recall him having to be put. Having said that, if I spoke with him, I dare say he’d confirm that he played in that position a number of times. As with a number of his colleagues, Ifer was another of those who would have been comfortable in the first team, had we not had such strength in that position.

So who else has worn the number 12 or 13 shirt during the course of the years? During Gavin’s days of second team captaincy, there was a settled second team combination of Dafydd Llyr and Eirian Davies, or Bot as he was better known. Before them, there was the other Eirian Davies, and Elfed Charles, who, like Dafydd, captained the seconds for a season too. More recently, you had Gwyndaf Davies as utility back, mainly for the seconds, and nowadays, Jon Owen, who is more like a utility committee for the club. Some time after I finished playing, Jon explained that, had Clwb Rygbi not existed, he would never had played rugby while in Cardiff, which is why he had such an affinity for the club. I had never considered this, as, being a Cardiff native, I would have found a club somewhere in the Capital if the club hadn’t existed at all.

Jon is now an invaluable, some might say irreplaceable member of the club’s committee. To my knowledge, he is club secretary, fixture secretary, second team captain, and all this for the second consecutive season. Further to this, he coaches the CRICCS each Saturday morning. He, of course, suffered the second-worst injury I ever saw on the field of play, after Huw Jones’s. I remember seeing Jon falling in front of me under the trees at Llandaff, and hearing a crack as he landed. I assumed he’s landed on a branch and broken it – the truth was quite a bit more horrific, and the scar on his arm makes me feel quite lucky!

There are two other centres whom I would willingly have seen wearing the numbers 12 and 13 shirts in this team. The first is Ioan Prydderch, who continues to enjoy his rugby with the club. His first appearance for us was as a substitute during a cup game at Llandaff against Barry Plastics, in a match we were winning comfortably. We’d lost possession in a maul, and the ball had been spread into the Plastics’ midfield. As the ball reached one of their centres’ hands, so Ioan arrived to take him out, man and ball. The referee’s whistle blew, and Ioan was penalised for what seemed an obvious offside. Even given the Plastics’ lack of speed in midfield, it wasn’t possible that he could have reached them that quickly, so I thought. It was only in conversation with one of the other backs in the changing rooms that I was told that Ioan hadn’t been offside, and that it was his pace which had allowed him to gain so much ground. I immediately realised that another talented back had joined the club. On his day, and in the right frame of mind, he had no peers, with his deceptive pace allowing him to pass outside his opposite number. Ioan was unfortunately another of those who suffered as a result of accepting the captaincy of the club, and the plethora of problems associated with this duty. There were times during this period when he lacked the confidence to put his head back and go, when we all knew that he was as good a centre as any in the capital. It’s pleasing to see that he has now regained his confidence and enthusiasm for the game, and his play has returned to the levels which he’d set himself previously.

Another similar type of player to Ioan was Andy Thomas, or Stumpy to all of us. Another doctor, he joined the club about a season before I gave up the captaincy of the club. My first impression, given the colour of his hair, was that he was someone who’d joined the club to play out his last year or two, and that he might be handy for the seconds. Having been corrected about his age, as soon as I saw him play, I realised that his contribution would be to the first team as opposed to the seconds. I first remember him coming on as a sub against the Polytechnic, coming into the centre where we had most recently had powerful, route one combinations. I was amazed, therefore, when he received the ball, and simply drifted outside his marker to score, in a move which I’d rarely seen from one of our backs before, but which would become more prominent in years to come with the progress of Ioan and Gareth Hall.

In spite of his size, his defence was strong, and it was uncommon for him to allow his opponents through. Alongside his play, I’ll also remember Stumpy for his commitment off the pitch. As a doctor, he could easily have hidden behind the “on-call” card when we had away trips to Sully and Ely, but invariably he would make himself available, even if it meant meeting us in the changing room. Personally, his greatest commitment came as we approached my last game as captain. It had been a tough 3 seasons, and I’d had enough, but one last game had been arranged against Canton at the end of April. We were having difficulty raising a team, and Stumpy had broken his nose. I had little enthusiasm to spend my time on the phone trying to find 15 players, and Stumpy could easily have explained that he was in no condition to play. But in fairness to him, I received a call from him explaining that if I was stuck, then he’d play, which is what happened. It was this sort of commitment which ensured the club’s survival when things were tight.

But having considered carefully for this imaginary team, I elected to plump for two solid, powerful centres, as opposed to the tricky runners. This may not be quite in keeping with the tradition of the club, but having picked a running outside half, and in the knowledge of having attacking wingers and full back, I’ve followed my instinct. Llyr Roberts may not be everyone’s first choice in the centre, perhaps, but to me, he epitomised everything that I respected from a player. Perhaps his greatest virtue was his fierce will to win, and he tolerated nothing below maximum effort. He was one of those who was quite happy to voice this opinion, and I think that there were some who resented this honesty. But as a playing colleague, I appreciated hearing him barking orders and criticism when it was appropriate. He reminded me of Brian Sullivan in this respect, though I didn’t fear him in the way I feared Brian.

On the field, he was organised, consistent and strong, usually preferring to distribute than break, or using those outside him to create space. His clean breaks were rare, but he had the experience to read a game well, and to know when to release his colleagues. He’d joined the club as a fullback, and it’s possible that this experience helped develop his vision and foresight. As he didn’t break on a regular basis, I have little recollection of his scoring many tries, which is strange considering he represented the club for ten seasons or so. It may be his consistency and lack of mistakes which underlined his value to the centre of midfield. Although not an instinctive runner, I recall vividly the classic centre’s try he scored out in Brest, which was worthy of winning the game. Perhaps the one thing which I find amazing about his career with the club, was that during his 10 seasons, he managed to avoid having to complete a stint on the committee. With the committee changing year by year, you would have thought it inevitable that he would have been pinned down in some role or other for a year, but somehow Llyr must have talked his way out of it, or had various other candidates to nominate on AGM day.

Selecting the other centre is a bit more obvious, and again, I’ve gone for a strong direct player, perhaps the ultimate route one runner, Ianto Hughes. Most of the players I’ve selected for this team will have been respected enormously by their colleagues, but perhaps none more than Iants. He would still be playing in the last minute in the same way that he was in the first, and there was no better inspiration for other players, or for a captain. No matter how difficult the opposition, nor how sound their defence, Iants was always a willing recipient of a crash ball which would send him driving back into the impenetrable back row.

To a captain, Iants was perfect. He was quiet in the changing room, content to listen to those around him. It was as if he accepted that others were there to make the decisions, and that he was there to carry out the instructions. Had I asked him to try to run through a brick wall, I suspect he would have given it a go. It’s strange, in hindsight, that most of the backs we had over the years were the types of players who could play in most positions in the backs – centres who could play at outside half, or fullbacks who’d play on the wing. Not so with Iants. I can’t imagine him as a fullback or an outside half, and putting him on the wing would simply have been a waste, similar to the Scarlets using Salesi Finau on the wing.

Again, with him, recalling memorable tries is difficult. I remember a length of the field interception in a cup game against Llanrumney on one occasion, but other than that, they were few and far between. I assume that he must have been responsible for breaking the line, or sucking in the defence, before we the forwards regained possession for us to release the backs to score. Either way, there is no question that he would be a member of this team.

Which leads us to the ultimate glory boys, the wingers. When you consider that there were two in action each weekend, there aren’t that many who come to mind. There may be two explanations for this; either, seeing as most people are able to play on the wing, that I’ve already mentioned them having played in a different position, or else, as they are tucked away in relative safety on the wing, that there is some natural longevity to their careers. It’s hard to remember who was out there when my career began, though it may have been Malcolm Rees, the antithesis of Jonah Lomu. Malcs was a quick and deceptive runner, who was certainly not going to run through a line of defence. I remember clearly a try he scored against the meds at Llanrumney, but it’s mainly as a fixture secretary for many years that he stays in the mind.

A number of other wingers came and went during the eighties. Players like Gary Pashley, Pete Rees( the best sevens player we ever had), Huw Eurig, Huw Hall, of course, Sion Hughes, Geraint Jenkin and David Davies, or Dimmo as he was known to most who was a good rugby player, and another outstanding cricketer. Most of these enjoyed one or two seasons out on the wing, in the same way as Marc Edwards, a young and elusive winger who’d joined us in the mid-eighties. It was expected that he’d wear the number 14 shirt throughout the nineties, and he was elected young player of the year after his first season. Of course, after that season, his work took him away from Cardiff, and we saw neither him, nor the trophy, again!

By the end of the eighties, Richard Williams had joined the club. Rich was an instinctive winger, who felt that he was underused out there, and therefore developed pretensions of making it as a hooker. I have to say, he stuck to his task in his new role, but I always felt that the wing was his best position. One of the most popular, who is still active most weekends, is Angus McFarlane, a strong runner, known to some as “crazy horse”. He was the type of player who I’d always felt would make a great flanker, but each time I mentioned a move, his excuse was that he understood the rules so poorly, that he’d be a hindrance up front. As a result, he was left out on the wing to continue with his style of running straight at, and through the defence. Given this strength, it’s strange to recall that he once came off injured having appeared to hurt himself falling over a blade of grass, as there was nobody else anywhere near him at the time.

On the opposite wing from Angus for many seasons back in the early nineties, was Sion Clwyd. Without doubt, Sion was the best finisher I knew, a real predator. He developed a perfect relationship with Meurig, Ianto and Llyr, and always seemed to pop up in the right place at the right time. There was excellent communication between them, and Sion would frequently follow pinpoint kicks into cow corner to touch down. He also possessed a rugby brain, which allowed him to track the movements of Gareth or John in order to gather the crumbs from one of their breaks. There were days when we had won by a convincing margin, and without my realising, Sion had crossed for three or four tries, without seeming to have been involved in the game at all. He was also one of those whom I could trust to be there every Saturday, and if he wasn’t available, there had to be a good reason. I could easily have selected Sion for this team, but I’ve elected to do a Graham Henry, and pick a big, powerful winger in his place.

Before that, a few of the other who’ve worn the 11 and 14 shirts with pride, such as Darren Phillips, one of the most committed players through the nineties, who was perhaps not appreciated as much as he might have been. Another in the nineties was Dafydd Levi, the player who was voted most valuable player during the season of the fantasy league. For a season, we also had Rhodri, who scored important tries against Morganstown and Wick, and then we had Gwyndaf and Dafydd Iolo, both from Tregaron.

But in terms of picking players for the team, I‘ve plumped for one obvious choice, and one perhaps less so. Emyr Jones was a noisy, talkative winger, but there have been few others over the years who had as much talent. The easiest way for me to describe him, is to recall Jason Robinson’s first try for the Lions against Australia in 2001, when he rounded his opponent in spite of only having a metre or two to play with. Emyr would have been the only Clwb player of the past 20 years or so who could have done this. He was a winger who knew his limitations and strengths, and who survived on his confidence and self-belief. I remember chatting with him once, and he explained that, given the ball inside the opponents 10 meter line, he backed himself to take on, and beat, anyone. Further out than the 10 meter line, and he would be liable to run out of puff! This was his philosophy, and I would never have argued with it.

In spite of the fact that he was loyal to us each Saturday, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that he was a regular trainer. In the same type of way, if there was a large forward charging towards him, my recollection is that he may have moved aside to protect his wellbeing and good looks. This may emphasise how good he was with ball in hands, as we were all willing to accept his defensive frailty in order to enjoy his attacking prowess. I remember his as a deceptive runner, in spite of the fact that I can’t recall any tries other that the one in Pontyates. Along with several of the others in this team, one of his prime assets was his determination and will-to-win. On the whole, this was a positive fact, though we sometimes saw the downside during his conversations with his brother, and in the extraordinary events during the half time interval in a match against Pyle, which resulted in DH’s resignation as coach.In spite of this, Emyr would still be an outstanding member of this team.

On the other wing, I’m going to plump for Tudor Young. This selection is similar to that of Andy Long in the front row, in that I have few recollections of him as a player, but I recall having immense respect for his ability. Tudor was a big wing, but had the speed to gain ground once he’d passed his opponent, and would therefore compliment Emyr on the other wing, one elusive and quick, the other powerful and direct. I have one single memory of Tudor as a player, and that was of him running with the ball down in Tregaron, with a handful of the opposition players hanging on to him. In spite of the shortage of recollections, I’m perfectly comfortable that Tudor would be a huge asset to this team.
And so to the full back, which is really quite a simple shout. This position was filled by a number of players I’ve already discussed, such as Llyr and Meurig. We had very few players who were full backs through and through, amongst those who were being Huw “Bristol” Davies and Owen Jenkins. These two were both very similar in their way, both solid, but unlikely to split the defence in counter attack. Both were extremely secure under the high ball, and were willing to put their bodies on the line to defend their line. Another in the same vein was Gareth James, or Wiblet to us all. Wibs was another reliable member of the seconds, who became and essential and committed organiser and player for the club’s cricket team, and was probably the only left-arm spinner on the Cardiff Midweek cricket circuit.

But for me, no one comes close to Eryl Jones in this position. I knew Eryl from our days in school, and I thus knew what he would bring to the club. He had joined, as had I, straight from school, and went straight into the firsts. He had two or three relatively successful years, until he picked up a serious leg injury against Swansea Uni., which seemed to co-incide with his decision to join some of his old school friends in playing for Rhiwbina.

Two or three seasons passed, and when I next bumped into him, he said that he was giving thought to rejoining the club. I made sure he attended a couple of training sessions, and in no time, he was back in the firsts. Rob Thomas was club captain by this stage, and it took some persuasion for me convince him that he was worthy of his place. That Saturday night, after his first game back, I was pleased that Rob was grateful, and had realised that an outstanding player had rejoined us.

On his return to the club, he was, if anything, an improved player from his first spell. He developed an excellent relationship with the likes of Meurig, Stumpy and Llyr, and his timing into the line remained perfect. He had pace, an understanding of the game, he kicked well with either foot, and was secure under the high ball…he had everything you would wish for in a fullback.

And so there it is. A team which might, just might, have brought us some success had we been able to bring these 15 players together to form a side for just one season. It’s interesting that 7 of this team made the trip to Newtown, reaffirming my view that that team was the strongest side we were ever able to put out on a single Saturday.

15 Fullback Eryl Jones
14 Right wing Tudor Young
13 Centre Ianto Huws
12 Centre Llyr Roberts
11 Left wing Emyr Jones
10 Outside half Rhidian Lloyd
9 Scrum Half Gwydion Lewis
8 No 8 Ieuan Lloyd
7 Flanker Huw Hall Williams
6 Flanker John Hayes
5 Second Row Gareth Hall Williams
4 Second Row Neil Cole
3 Prop Wyn Lewis
2 Hooker Brian Sullivan
1 Prop Andy Long

I have no doubts that this team would have earned some sort of success. But, as back up, how about this as a second team, emphasising the strength in depth we’ve had over the years.

15 Fullback Meurig Phillips
14 Right wing Sion Clwyd
13 Centre Andy Thomas
12 Centre Ioan Prydderch
11 Left wing Angus McFarlane
10 Outside half Huw Jones
9 Scrum half Dave Jones
8 Number 8 Gareth Wilkins
7 Flanker Dai Lewis
6 Flanker Llyr Williams
5 Second row Dave Pemberton
4 Second row Dafydd Idris
3 Prop Frank Williams
2 Hooker Tony Vobe
1 Prop Kevin Evans

This second 15 would give a hell of game for the firsts, with the aggression of the second and back rows being more than a match for the first team, especially if you consider they might have Grundy, Dyfrig and Rhidian John as back up.

 

9 Back to the future
My career came to a sudden end one afternoon in December 1996 at Caedelyn. Having previously had over 75 stitches inserted in my face over the years, one more phone call from CRI was to prove one too many, and I agreed to hang up my boots for good. At the time, the club’s future was slightly precarious, with a number of stalwarts having recently given up. As might have been expected, some difficult seasons followed, which stretched the patience of captains like Rhidian, Ioan and Dai Owen. But as the new century arrived, so the fortunes of the club underwent another about turn. This was triggered by the election of Neil Cole as coach, which brought the club’s most respected and influential individual into a position where he was able to exert his stamp on the club, and the result was an increase in commitment, heart and standard.

This event co-incided with one other factor. The CRICCS had been formed some 10 years earlier by DH, Wyn Lewis and some others, and was recognised as being a long-term investment. We’d seen a few players coming through, Llyr Evans and Gareth Skelding amongst them, but all of a sudden, a clutch of new players appeared, and not just ordinary players, but highly talented ones. Local boys like Rhodri Llewellyn(who with Huw formed the only father and son I ever played with at the club, albeit just one game with each), Gethin Jones and John Paul Barker would have pushed hard for places in my imaginary team had they played at the same time as me. Nowadays, it’s a pleasure to see the Glantaf boys making up most of the team, alongside a few from the West and north, and a few of the old campaigners like Dyfrig, Dafydd Emyr and Llyr Williams, who seem to have been around for ever.

I could never over-emphasise the importance and value of the CRICCS. I was fortunate enough to be involved in training for one season, giving me an insight into the running of the club, and to gain some appreciation of the benefit these boys will bring in years to come. The professionalism of Dafydd Hampson-Jones, Huw Jones and Jon Owen and the rest was a lesson to the whole club, and was an eye opener for me. As I said previously, I had no connection with any club as a teenager, and it was only by chance that I joined the club. Now we have a natural source of new players for whom the club will be a natural place to enjoy their rugby as adults. As the standard improves, so it will hopefully draw more incomers to the city to join the club, thus raising the standards even higher.

The current committee is forward thinking and has set high standards, which is the result of the improvements and progress noted above. It may be that soon, DH’s ambitions for the future of the club may come to fruition, and that we’ll be the owners of our own clubhouse. As we entered 2002, so another club player was about to be capped by his country, and 4 others had been chosen for the District. The club hadn’t reached such heady heights for years, if ever. The club’s future seems brighter than ever.
John Parry-Jones January 2002

10 Footnote

Some 15 months after I finished writing this recollection, my dreams of some sort of success for Clwb Rygbi Cymry Caerdydd were realised, and realised in the best possible manner, with victory in the old Brewers Cup. In spite of all my hopes throughout the years, success to me would have been achieved simply by means of a place in the last 8 of the Brewers, or reaching the final of the Mallet Cup. I would never truly have believed that I would witness this club being crowned national district champions at the Millenium Stadium. But, on April 12th 2003, that’s just what happened, and it became such a memorable event for all of us who were there.

I don’t wish to labour over the details of the season. I was, to all intents and purposes, a fair weather supporter. After the boys had defeated Whitchurch fairly convincingly in the first round, I could have made the trip to Blackwood for the second round. I have to be honest, I saw little chance of victory, and decided to stay in Cardiff for the afternoon. Boy, would I regret that decision when I heard about the performance. When I became aware of the result that Sunday morning, all I could consider was that the boys simply couldn’t waste the golden opportunity they’d given themselves. By the time I was able to see them next, they’d already disposed of Aberbargoed up there, and had the little matter of a game against Trefil ahead of them. As I spoke with some of the players subsequently, it was clear that this had been the crucial, key fixture, and it was their heart and commitment as much as anything, which won the day.

By the time of the semi-final, and the trip to Pontypool, it was clear that a rich vein of form and confidence had spread through the team. Given the conditions that afternoon, the backs performance was astonishing, and as a forward myself, I felt great pride in seeing our eight hold their own against Girlings’ huge set of forwards. It was another highly deserved win, and in my humble opinion, Clwb would enter the final as firm favourites.

For the past players like myself, those weeks leading up to the final were filled with frustration. I would have given anything to have been a part of the squad. I e-mailed Llyr Roberts in Australia, and his feelings were exactly the same. I was enormously envious of all the players, in particular when I considered that I was the same age, if not younger than one or two of them.

The day was perfect in every respect, with fine weather, a large crowd, plenty of other former players, and of course, a positive result. Again, the result had been fair, and as in the previous matches, we’d won by playing an open style, and scoring tries against a well drilled and heavy pack. I would have been interested to know the percentage of points the club had scored by means of tries as opposed to penalties during the course of the cup run – the number of kicks seemed few and far between, highlighting that our style hasn’t changed much as the years have gone by.

We had a memorable night in Yates following the victory. Some of my former colleagues and I discussed the quality of the current team, and asked each other how they’d succeeded where we’d failed. It was suggested, and I have to admit, I concurred at the time, that the standard of rugby at WDRU level had lowered as the years had passed, and that this had to be the reason that the team had succeeded this year. But on reflection, we all agreed that this was too simplistic, and frankly inaccurate. I think it may be true that the level at Cardiff and District may have dropped, as the likes of Fairwater and St Albans have achieved their WRU status. But if Cardiff standards had dropped, the same certainly couldn’t be said of Gwent and Mid Glamorgan, and Clwb had beaten 4 of them on their way to the final, three of whom were beaten outside Llandaff Fields. They’d had no comfortable fixture against any of the weaker teams, and above all else, they’d beaten the holders on their own patch in the second round. No, this season’s success had been the result of hard work, and massive team spirit.

So the culmination of this is that the team of 2003 has to be the greatest team that Clwb has produced. The statistics make this a fact. But again, as the night wore on in Yates, we wondered how many of the present team would get into my imaginary team. That’s more difficult. We’ve always had talented individuals, but the success of the 2003 team was based on the ability to create a great team from all the talent at their disposal. The credit for that no doubt belongs to Neil Cole. Let’s hope that this success can be continued and replicated so that we old boys have further opportunities to get together to discuss the old days, and compare them with the players of today.

John Parry-Jones Summer 2003

 

GORAU CHWARAE, CHWARAE TEG by Mel Davies

The following article was taken from March 1976 edition of 'Welsh Rugby Magazine'.
Daw'r erthygl canlynol o rifyn Mawrth 1976 o 'Welsh Rugby Magazine'.

During the 1967-68 rugby season, fresh seeds were sown in the fertile field of rugby in our capital city of Cardiff. The seeds were very much "seeds of Welshness" which have now grown into the strong roots of "Clwb Rygbi", a primarily Welsh-speaking rugby club. This club plays its home matches on Pontcanna Fields and the after-match get-togethers take place at HTV's Social Club in the grounds of the television studios.

There are two parallel philosophies involved in the life of "Clwb Rygbi" and they are firstly to play rugby according to the laws of the Welsh Rugby Union and secondly to further foster the Welsh language amongst Club members. While Welsh is the first language of the club, there is no ban against non-Welsh speakers, as indeed there are a few players who are English nationals and who are very happy in the club.

Of the founder members, only three still remain D.W. (Doc) Jones, Alun Charles and John Richards who is a P.E. teacher at Llanrhymney and who was capped by the Junior W.R.U. in 1969/70. Other founder members have become missionaries of the Union code by going to remoter parts of Wales, as far as rugby is concerned, where they have started other clubs such as Llangefni in Anglesey where ex-Clwb Rygbi man Lyn Davies has introduced our national game. Bethesda has benefited by the efforts of Buckley Wyn Jones while Tregarron have been indoctrinated by Alun Breck Jones.

Problems

THE FACT THAT only three of the original members still remain, even though other former members are spreading the gospel, does in fact highlight the inherent problem of a club such as "Clwb Rygbi" and that is, because it is made up almost entirely of members who have come to work in Cardiff, mainly in the teaching profession , who have no real roots here and therefore the majority will not remain here indefinitely. It therefore resembles a college side but with the added disadvantage of having to see to its own chores such as putting the flags up before games, seeing to the teas after games while having to pay for the privilege of playing so that the overheads such as laundry and hire of HTV's Social Club are covered. Costs incurred on away matches have also to come out of the pockets of players. The "perk" that most clubs enjoy and yet take for granted, which "Clwb Rygbi" greatly miss, is the invaluable contributions made by the 50-and 60-year old members who see to the pitch before a match by doing such jobs as placing of flag posts, and making sure the tea, soup and beer is ready afterwards.

Players in the majority of clubs certainly do not realise how lucky they are when they only have to concentrate their minds on playing. Nevertheless, for all the problems this happy club has a very important factor going for it and that is their unshakeable Welshness, which cannot possibly be explained to the majority not involved with the language. To attempt to do so would only antagonise the situation unnecessarily and we all know, to rephrase an old saying, there are none so deaf as those who will not hear, but to hear these boys at a get-together is a joy to behold. They have a fine choir of voices and for a pleasant change, they all know the words, whether the renditions are of well known hymns or modern folk songs.

Ambition

FROM HUMBLE BEGINNINGS in 1967/68 when their one and only team had a string of uninteresting fixtures, this club have gained in status and stature. They now run three teams with the second XV playing the fixtures that the first XV were playing a couple of seasons ago. The club is a member of the "Cardiff & District" Junior Union and qualifies to enter for the "Welsh Brewers Cup" and the "Mallet Cup" while the Second XV enter the "Ninian Stewart Cup".

Last season "Clwb Rygbi" won the Cardiff and District Sevens for the second time by beating Rhiwbina in the final after having previously won this competition in 1970/71. During last season they reached the last eight of the "Mallet Cup" and after getting to the finals of the Welsh District Sevens they lost 20-16 to Pontypridd Athletic which included three of their first team players.

Naturally enough "Clwb Rygbi Caerdydd" is very keen to have its own ground and clubhouse and is striving desperately hard to make money from various schemes to build up a fund which might one day make this dream a reality. One very ambitious scheme underway is that during the National Eisteddfod this year at Cardigan, they have hired the main pavilion for one night for a "Noson Lawen" which will include entertainers like Max Boyce and Ryan Davies plus possibly a well known international star. Add to this the harmonious offerings from major groups in Wales and maybe the Polyphonic Choir of Cardiff and Pontarddulais Male Voice Choir and the scene is set for a "Noson Lawen" to be remembered for all times.

The total cost for setting this up will be £3,500 so let's all hope the pavilion will be filled to overflowing with Welshness which has paid for the privilege and by doing so help bring the ambitions of "Clwb Rygbi" a little nearer to becoming a reality. It is also hoped that it will attain full WRU status in the not too distant future.

Personalities

UNLIKE OTHER CLUBS, this club does not have a history or tradition to draw on or even laurels to rest on. It has to capitalise on the strength and characters within the existing club and in this it is indeed fortunate. To begin with its former and present presidents are none other than those famous men of rugby for Llanelli, Wales and the Lions, R.H. (Rhys) Williams and Carwyn James respectively. The teams also have a healthy sprinkling of players of no mean repute. Captain of the first XV is Huw (Ike) Davies at scrum half, of present HTV fame but formerly successor to Carwyn James at Llandovery College where he was head of the Welsh Department and in addition coached rugby. During his days at Cardiff University he was captain for the seasons 1967/68/89. He played twice for the Welsh Universities and also played for his home team Cwmgorse when they won the West Wales Cup and became their captain for the following two season. Last year's captain and prolific points scorer is full back Alun (tids) Jenkins a Brynaman man who has scored just on 200 points this season so far. He is a former reserve for the Wales Junior WRU side but is best known at the moment, apart from scoring points, for his masterly control at social occasions. Everyone responds to him as one and apart from being a fine singer he is also know for his fanatical enthusiasm for quiz-games. So good is he at this that he now has his own quiz programme on BBC's "Good Morning Wales" every Wednesday morning. Doc Jones is another tremendous character who is well known for his oratory powers, questionable ability as sponge-man, but fantastic at organising club dances which are held at the Territorial Army Hall every Friday evening before home international matches. These dances bring together old and new friends who are visiting Cardiff for the big match, while they could well be fortunate enough to hear Doc's excellent and much applauded rendering of Myfanwy.

Outstanding Players

FROM THE OUTSIDE-HALF FACTORY in Cefneithin, where you-know-who comes from, another fine outside-half has emerged by the name of Dai Davies. Dai is primarily a scrum half but is such a good player that moving to outside-half offers no problems to him. This is indeed fortunate as the captain Huw (Ike) Davies, the scrum half, also picks the team so the predicament is settled instantly!!!

Of the other players, the majority have played for the first XV of their college or university, such as Graham Bowen (Aberystwyth University), at centre, Dorian Rees (Swansea University), at centre, Beuno Hughes (Swansea University). In the pack "Clwb Rygbi" must be better blessed with hookers than any club, for it has no fewer than three ex-first class players. Returning to Cardiff this year from London where he played for Saracens is Amman United man Roley Davies, while another Amman United player who also played for Bridgend for one season is Howell Evans. Howell was last season's vice captain. The third hooker is Gwyn Williams from Bargoed, who was regular hooker for the Welsh Universities and British Universities when his prop was Fran Cotton of England. Gwyn also played for Pontypool when his props were none other than Bobby Windsor and Charlie Faulkner. He has also played for Cross Keys and Glamorgan Wanderers. From Haverfordwest in Pembrokeshire (to blazers with Dyfed) comes prop Wyn Lewis who was a Welsh Schoolboys' final trialist and second row man Peter (Rocky) Morgan. There is also a North Wales player John Humphreys who has unfortunately been plagued with cartilage trouble throughout this season. Another North Walian is Owen Eames playing at wing three-quarter. A further player with first class experience is prop forward Gwyndaf Davies who apart from having played for London Welsh, is also the son of Wil Davies of Jack and Wil who are the ever popular singers of Welsh folk songs and who can be heard on Welsh radio's record request programmes every week without fail. In the back row there is Dai Lewis at No.8 while the flankers are chosen from Meirion Jones of Ammanford, John Griffiths who played for Caerleon training College while the number one flanker is Alun Charles, wanted by Pontypridd, and one of the three remaining founder members.

Future Hopes

"CLWB RYGBI CAERDYDD" is now a rapidly improving rugby club running three sides but it still suffers from the nomadic tendencies of its players although this has settled down greatly during the past year. The real hope for the future lies in increasing support from boys leaving the Welsh schools at Llanharry and Rhydfelin where Arwel Owen, the 2nd XV vice captain and fixture secretary, is a PE master. He can obviously keep an eye on good prospects. Richard Jenkins is just such a player, who at 18 years of age plays for the first or second XVs as required, in the second or back row.

The future of this club is also assured as long as they retain administrators like secretary Wyn Williams and Martin Williams, now on the BBC production ladder and expense account, whose commitment to training has deteriorated to being just in time to join the boys at the bar!

One thing that Huw Ike Davies has learned will not pay off in the future is that shrewd referees cannot be fooled even when they don't understand the language. During last season's Sevens match against Rhiwbina, one of "Clwb Rygbi's" players was having trouble with his bootlaces so Huw suggested in Welsh, that one of the other players should go down with a feigned leg injury. This the player did, but to the amazement of Huw and his team-mates the referee awarded a penalty against "Clwb Rygbi" for wasting time. The referee stated that he did not understand what was said but he read the situation right enough. Rhiwbina went on to score from the penalty kick. The moral from that must be - "you can fool some of the people some of the time but not all of the people all of the time."

Now that there are so many people in Cardiff who are Welsh language orientated, "Clwb Rygbi" would welcome their support in the future. They could also do with more female support both on the touchline where they can see the boys winning most of their matches and with much needed help after the games. There is already a small nucleus of support from wives and girlfriends plus the dedicated support from beautiful Angharad Anwyl-Thomas. So come on girls give the boys your support and enjoy a friendly atmosphere with fine singing thrown in for good measure. They really have an "uncompromising" lot!

With so many rugby clubs having now reached or about to reach one hundred years of existence, it is exiting to see a young club which has so many characters, players of quality, freshness and ambition and whose motto could well be "Gorau Chwarae, Chwarae teg", which assures a healthy future for the game of rugby and the beautiful Welsh language. Pob lwc I chi gyd yng "Nghlwb Rygbi Caerdydd".