LEST WE FORGET – Part 1.
It is Armistice Day and 90 years since the Great war breathed its last shuddering gasp. When Robbie Diack, David Pollock and Stephen Ferris next run unto the Ravenhill turf to rapturous applause from the Ulster fans, it would be fitting to spare, as I will, a brief second of thought dedicated to the young men who died in that conflict. Much is made of the youth of our back row, all strapping, athletic young men with a great sporting future confronting them, to grasp and parade on the bigger stage. 90 odd years ago it was same kind of young men and younger, yes some were even boys who gave their all and paid a very high price, the ultimate sacrifice in the name of their King and country.
These young men were in the prime of their youth, more than a few were sportsmen, who would no doubt not be earning the kind of money our rugby players do now, but who would nevertheless have achieved the accolade of fame as sporting personalities. Many doubtless, would have went to war oblivious to the horrors that awaited, whether on the frontline, in the air or at sea. It’s not for me to moralise over how and why they arrived at the door of death in the name of King and country. Suffice to say, many faced that death unflinching and unwavering in the face of bullets not knowing or having time to reason why they were being told to walk across flat ground into the face of machine gun fire.
Sometimes statistics can be brutal, unforgiving and telling. Having watched a documentary over the last few weeks on how the Great war started and concluded, it is mind bending to note the numbers quoted, whether its bullets fired, shells exploded or men killed. I do not recall the exact figures but you can imagine the impact of 3 million shells fired in one battle, tens of thousands of casualties on one day of an offensive not to mention the many more traumatised or just plain lucky to be alive. Every week in some forgotten corner of Northern France shells are still being dug up by farmers ploughing fields over which men fought and died 90 ninety years ago.
I recall as a teenager, on my first motorcycling tour to the continent, driving along an undulating, tree lined road in Northern France near Arras. It was a hot day, with blue skies, a light breeze and those little puffs of white cloud sitting serenely above me. A sign pointed to a war cemetery. We decided to look as we had time to spare in our travels. Even in the early flushes of youth and armoured by the bravado, fitness and health emboldens you with, I could not help be stopped in my tracks by the column upon column of names on the limestone wall. Not a big cemetery, by all accounts, there were 9000 names listed in all. It has stayed with me to this day, the unblinking stare of dead men’s names, standing as silent testimony and memorial to lives lost in a most unflattering manner.
So as the flower of our younger generation next take to the rugby field of battle in the name of sport, we would do well to pause and remember those of another generation who never had the chance and circumstance to achieve the accolades of their elders and perished in such horrific circumstances over ninety years ago.
AGE WILL NOT WITHER THEM
LEST WE FORGET – Part 2.
I was still in short trousers when the sixties and the age of flower power arrived in its, all jingle jangle, drug induced euphoric or menacing musical pomp which resonates today every bit, as it melodically did then. Botanic Gardens was as you might have expected, even in conservative Belfast, the location for a bit of flower power. The hippies, all kaftans, bead and coloured glasses took over the gardens for a day and used the flowerbeds to good effect by plucking the flowers and sticking them in their hair.
As if in a parallel universe one Willie John McBride existed through the 60’s as the very antithesis to the flower power generation whom had sought to change the world by the power of music and alternative lifestyle.
John Gainsford, a Springbok had this to say about the boul Willie.
“He was mentally tough, physically hard and disciplined. He prepared like a professional and was ready to die on the field for victory. He was a rugged, even ruthless, competitor who played to win and was not squeamish about resorting to obstruction, gamesmanship and even use of his fists or boots to achieve that end.”
I have no doubt that had his country called him some ninety or so years ago he would have led from the front there to.
LEST WE FORGET – Part 3
BJ Botha the erstwhile Springbok and Ulster prop is hoping to become a dad any day now. Despite or in spite of the weather, BJ appears to have maintained his equilibrium, pulverised most opposition props and now faces the ultimate test of being present at the birth of Botha junior. We wish him and Mrs Botha all the very best wishes as they embark in a new stage of BJ’s career…………. as a dad!
LEST WE FORGET – Part 4
Meanwhile the weather, let’s face it, is the worst in living memory (mine anyway) over the last 3 months, coinciding as a welcome factor to our influx of Southern Hemisphere stars. Thier ‘all sun tanned’ complexions have struggled to maintain any semblance of brownish skin under leaden skies and blistering rain. Some welcome……. hopefully the supporters welcome will make up any shortfall accorded by the weather.
LEST WE FORGET – Part 5
The win over Munster was for better or worse the best atmosphere in a while at Ravenhill with yours truly forgetting any semblance of decorum and middle aged reserve by bawling advice unashamedly at the TJ amongst others. It was only one win and having watched the DVD of the game it is time to sober up and reflect that there is an awful lot of work to do. The amount of turnovers at the ruck in the first half was plain awful and another more clinical team would have punished us as they had done earlier in the season. We were light in numbers there, giving Cillian Willis some work to do,just to get the ball away. The second half saw tighter ruck protection but also less attacking rugby. Is there a correlation between the two?
Reasons to be cheerful though as we have found a balance in the back row and the stirrings of real class in the backline. Connaught are next up and a test of our new found resolve. We should be able to put them to the sword, though I expect that nothing less than the commitment shown in the Munster game over 80 minutes will suffice.
GOOD EGG, DODGEY YOLK….
There is a cliché that civil servants don’t work much and that farmers toil from dawn to dusk and then some. Well I can report from the UAFC messageboard the dissolution of this particular cliché. Working farmers are a myth. At least when they are listing out on the messageboard, all the weekend’s rugby games on TV, rather than farming. The latter itinerary for divorce should you still have another half was greeted with the following prescient response from a guy whose armour is clearly flameproof.
“Day of FUN, day of FUN!!!” he hollered.
As if to emphasise this rather laissez faire attitude he obligingly tried to impress with his robust charm towards his missus.
“Tomorrow’s schedule,” he intoned, ” involves getting up, walking dog, raking some leaves, and parking ar$e. As an added bonus Mrs. W…. K….. is not at work tomorrow, so if i fancy a pizza during the football and a few scotch eggs between the rugby matches, said ar$e can stay parked.”
I assume Mrs……….might well take a blow torch to the cracks between his cheeks and indulge in a spot of welding!
Another more responsible but no less enlightened fella reasoned.
“Do you think I could do enough DIY by 12.30 to justify parking myself in front of the telly for Arsenal Manu, Wales SA/England PI & Ireland/Canada.”
Much of this is bluster by married men still coming to terms with having to impress their mates whilst facing up to the realities of married life.
For the record, yours truly, got up, had breakfast, varnished a couple of window frames, watched Wales/SA and then Ireland/Canada whilst having a few beers and barely moving from my seat between 2.00pm and 7.30pm.
LESSONS FROM HISTORY
As Stephen Ferris basks in the afterglow of his match winning performance last Saturday he will do well to pause and consider the parallels with another back row colleague currently kicking his heels across the Irish Sea.
Two seasons ago, the latter back row man found himself in the spotlight having had a stormin’ normin kinda performance in the Autumn Internationals and a potential place in Irelands 6N team. Never happened and Eddie O reverted to type by playing his old faithful. The writing on the wall went to said back row man’s head. Two seasons later and many Ulster fans can only recall his contribution to Ulsters two seasons of woe as one of divisiveness.
Hopefully Stephen will keep his feet on the ground and his head out of the clouds. Remember Denis Leamy, another old faithful returns for the 6N.
BRING PLENTY OF CHANGE IN YOUR POCKET
Word reaches me that a colleague in work decided at the last minute to go to the Ulster/ Munster match. Having been given a couple of tickets for the Prom by his mate which went to the wife and kid, he decided to pay at the gate for a ticket for himself. £15.00 said the price tag above his head as he entered the turnstile. He spun out the other side and into Ravenhill ground a further £2 lighter having been asked to stump up £17 rather than 15 he thought he would pay.
With this sort of racket going on, it makes you wonder how MR can only make £1 per head on gate revenue!!!!!!
Corrections, comments or questions?