Bill Beaumont: The Autobiography. Bill Beaumont

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СКАЧАТЬ northerner. Yet, he never threw in the towel and, although his coaching ability was never allowed to blossom at international level, he did become a leading administrator in the game before being honoured with the Presidency of the RFU.

      The opening game against Western Australia was a bit of a cakewalk but we lost the second game, against Sydney, 14–10. I almost lost more than the game because, for no apparent reason, I was clobbered by Steve Finnane, Sydney’s international prop, as we ran across the pitch following the action. It was a mindless and unprovoked attack that left me out cold. There is no place in the game, at any level, for such behaviour but Finnane had a reputation for that sort of thing. During the same game he flattened Mike Burton and Steve Callum, a mystery player who suddenly appeared in the touring party from Upper Clapton but was barely heard of again. Two years later Finnane broke the jaw of Graham Price during a Welsh tour of Australia, so the guy built up quite a history of violent behaviour.

      When I eventually came round from Finnane’s pile-driver, I was persuaded by Tony Neary to leave the field and was joined on the treatment table – thankfully not literally, considering the size of the pair of us – by Fran Cotton. He had trapped a nerve in his back and was unable to take any further part in the tour. As we were to lose Tony Neary with damaged ribs in the first Test you could say that some of our heaviest artillery had been put out of commission.

      Not all the Aussies were out of Finnane’s mould, there being some guys you would happily have a drink with. One of those was a guy who became chief executive of Foster’s Lager. I met him during the 2001 British Lions tour to Australia and he told me he had made his debut for Sydney that day and had subsequently watched my career with interest. I was more than happy to enjoy a few beers with him, but I have never had any desire to socialise with people like Finnane who go around whacking people off the ball when they don’t know it’s coming and are in no position to defend themselves.

      My chances of a Test place seemed to have diminished because I wasn’t involved in the 29–24 win over New South Wales, figuring instead in a surprise 14–13 defeat at the hands of a New South Wales Country XV. A place on the bench was the best I could hope for and that’s what I ended up with for the first Test in Sydney, and what an unpleasant game that turned out to be. The Aussies were capable of playing some breathtaking rugby so I couldn’t understand why they picked abrasive characters like Finnane who seemed more intent on intimidating than playing rugby against us.

      Tony Neary injured his ribs midway in the first half and I was sent on to the battlefield. From a personal perspective it went quite well because I ended up front-jumping against a guy called Reg Smith and won my fair share of ball at the line-out. Though I say it myself, I had my best game of the tour in the loose and, after helping England to victory over Queensland in midweek with Bob Wilkinson as my partner we were picked as a pair for the second Test. So I won my third cap on merit instead of as a replacement, although I wish it could have been a more auspicious occasion. If we thought the first Test was bad then I am afraid we had seen nothing.

      The Aussies launched themselves at us with all the ferocity of caged animals that hadn’t been fed for a long time, and I had trouble believing what was going on. Barry Nelmes, the Cardiff prop, won the ball at the kick-off but was tackled and, while he was on the floor, a pack of Aussie forwards raced in and started kicking him. Nowadays two or three players would have walked for that. The first line-out was just as bad. Mike Burton, never short of a quick riposte, said something to one of the Aussie forwards who was then heard saying ‘Burton’s got the biff on’ to his team-mates who immediately piled into us. About four of them waded into me and I ended up needing stitches. My boys watched the incident on a Brian Moore video nasty that we somehow acquired recently and they thought it was absolutely hilarious that Dad had been unable to fight his way out of the situation. It was quite a long hike down the corridor to the dressing rooms at Ballymore and, as I was having the stitches inserted, I could hear studs clomping towards us. The next minute Burton walked in and slumped on to a bench, and when I asked what was wrong with him he told me he’d been sent off.

      Nowadays a replacement prop would have been sent on as cover, with a flanker having to drop out to make way for him. Things were different then and sides had to cope as best they could. I should have stayed off but I thought bollocks to that, I’m going back on. I didn’t want to be replaced in the first international I had actually been selected to start in. As a result I raced back to the pitch and joined John Pullin and Barry Nelmes in the front row. I was well fired up, but I had played at prop previously, albeit at nothing even approaching that level, and coped all right, losing only one put-in against the head all afternoon. One scrum did collapse and I reckon my opposite number, Ron Graham, who is now an Australian rugby administrator and a good guy, could have killed me had he been so inclined. That he didn’t seemed rather odd, considering all that had gone on before!

      I discovered later that Burton had delivered a late, late tackle on Doug Osborne, the Aussie wing and after the earlier fracas there was only one way he was going … and that was off. Mike took it badly, feeling he had let everyone down. I felt particularly for John Burgess because, through no fault of his own, everything was going wrong. Perhaps with a more experienced side things wouldn’t have got quite so out of hand but the Aussies did have something of a reputation at that time and they had one or two players who just appeared to go looking for trouble. Sledging, as favoured by their cricketers, is one thing but unprovoked violence is a different matter and it is a wonder that nobody received a serious injury.

      Steve Finnane had already shown his colours but their flanker Ray Price and hooker Peter Horton could also put it about to some tune. What I couldn’t understand was that Horton was actually English and a teacher to boot. He was into Pom-bashing big-style and I only hope his language was rather better in the classroom. Price was a very talented player and turned up in England to play rugby league at Wigan. I met him at Central Park one day and with tongue in cheek said, ‘I remember you Bill. You cut easily.’

      It had been a disastrous tour and, even though I had collected my third England cap, I still hadn’t played on a winning side. Although I had made my debut the previous season England had only managed to win one Five Nations game – by a solitary point – and worse was to come. John Burgess resigned as national coach and, in the following season, England suffered a whitewash. A time of gloom and doom for English rugby but it wasn’t all bad news for me because I met my wife Hilary.

      Just before the start of the following season I was invited by a friend of mine to a girl’s twenty-first birthday party but I declined, saying that it didn’t seem right to attend when I didn’t even know who she was. The following day I did attend a pre-season barbecue in St Annes that had been organised by one of the lads at Fylde, and ended up chatting to the attractive young lady whose party I had decided I couldn’t possibly have attended the previous evening. Had I known it had been Hilary’s birthday party I’m pretty sure I would have been first on the doorstep. We got along fine but it wasn’t long before I was ensconced in a corner chatting about rugby with the lads and I didn’t notice her again. Not that I was seeing too well by the end of the evening because one of the lads had been messing around with a golf club and a ball hit me in the eye. That forced me to withdraw from the club’s two opening games against Coventry and Cheltenham, so I was not exactly a happy bunny. The first game I was able to play was a home fixture against Gloucester, a side packed with quality players and captained by Mike Burton. John Watkins, John Fidler, Peter Kingston, Peter Butler and John Bayliss were also in the line-up but I was determined to do well because I had trained hard during what had been left of the summer and wanted to get my season off to a good start. Fylde would usually settle for any sort of victory against a side of Gloucester’s quality but we really got the bit between our teeth and beat them 31–3. I remember that we scored a try in the last minute of the game and then caught the restart and ran it back at them to score again. It was that sort of day and was about to get better.

      In the bar afterwards I bumped into Hilary who had gone to the game with her sister and brother-in-law. She didn’t know anything about rugby but her СКАЧАТЬ