Did I say Killer wouldn’t be a happy chap? He was worse than unhappy he was “disappointed” which was always a sure fire way for anybody to get me onto a massive guilt trip.
Perhaps if my Headmaster had chosen to be “disappointed” with me 2 years later rather than getting angry things could have turned out a lot differently. The same thing would have applied at home; disappointment could have probably kept me a bit more in line.
Of course I was hoping that this little betrayal would summarily end my school rugby career after all I’d just proved my self unreliable and quite possibly devious to boot. No such luck sadly, I could still turn out the other 3 weeks, couldn’t I?
There were limits beyond which even I wouldn’t go, at least there were then, so I glumly admitted that yes, I could certainly do that.
Well, nothing about me ever seemed to be straightforward and Fate or God, or whoever the hell was in charge of these things, had devised a complicated plan to help me out, sort of.
Weather had no effect on boys and rugby where my school was concerned. I’ve played on pitches so frozen that a diving tackle could leave blood pouring down your legs which was great fun when hot showers restored circulation.
On one memorable day in January, when I was a First Former, I had to be led by the hand all the way back to school because my eyes had started to freeze over and I couldn’t see. All the boys thought that was hilarious, I wanted to cry but my tear ducts were frozen.
I was absolutely terrified and very embarrassed by having someone hold my hand as we walked through the school to the changing room. Fortunately a long hot shower put everything right; at least I had to assume that it did and when Killer gave me back my glasses, which he kept in his office while we were playing, I could see again.
I’ve played in thunderstorms which was frightening and in fog so thick that you couldn’t see the posts from the 5 yard line. I’ve played in a blizzard which was just damn’ silly and, of course, I’ve played in torrential rain. It was the rain that slightly changed the course of my rugby career.
On a sodden pitch and so covered in mud that the side wearing reverse shirts looked exactly the same as the side in normal colours, we got the first call for a scrum down. I was back in my usual place as hooker, in a reverse shirt today, so I hitched myself up onto my 2 large props and got my head down.
The first attempt was a mess and my opposing number was left standing up so we broke, reformed and tried again. At the 4th attempt we got a lock and I went straight into action rather than waiting for anything mundane like the ball coming in and then without warning the whole thing collapsed, with me at the bottom of the resulting heap of bodies.
Killer jumped in and started hauling bodies off and eventually got to little me. I was clutching my knee and, to my great shame, crying with pain. It’s a reflection on the times I grew up in that this didn’t cause any panic or warrant immediate medical attention.
After helping me to my feet and getting me to put some weight on my injured left leg, Killer was satisfied that no great harm had been done and just told me to sit on the touchline until the final whistle. So that’s what I did, sat in a puddle of mud for about half an hour.
Two of the larger boys were dragooned into pretty well carrying me back to the school and delivering me to the nurse who was of the opinion that it was just bruising. I was just ordered to be sure and tell my parents about it so that they could take me to the family doctor.
To be honest by the time I’d showered and got dressed the worst of the pain seemed to have gone and by the end of the day I was walking almost normally.
When I got home I did the right thing and told Mum so I was ordered out of my trousers so she could have a look. Me without trousers at home wasn’t particularly unusual. Me without trousers and without a sore bottom, now that was a rarity.
Apart from some pain from movement there wasn’t any obvious damage so it was decided that an extra long bath, after prep and violin practice of course, was probably the best course and we’d see how it was in the morning.
Love
Yes, our lot played rugby football in all weathers. I hated the game and couldn’t even understand most of the foreign language which seemed to be employed.
Mind you, as one advanced into the Fourths, Fifths and then the Sixth Form there were fewer and fewer boys who still wore the ordinary school tie. If you weren’t a Prefect (in the Sixths, of course) then you might be a member of the Carlton Club (like Junior Prefects) or have your School colours for playing in one of the relatively few ‘recognised’ competitive sports. But on the way to these exalted honours many boys managed to get their House Colours (and so a special tie) from the Fourth Form upwards.
I was eventually awarded by House Colours ‘for standing on more touchlines’ (as Reserve) ‘than any other boy!’
Oh how I loved my House Master!
At least you got house colours whatever the reason, after refusing to attend a house meeting because it clashed with a violin lesson I got kind of ostracised. I really didn’t mind, the whole house system is a complete load in my opinion.
Love
Malcolm
Mac, Could some of your problems today health wise be related to all this rugby stuff. It seems pretty rough on the body the way you guys went at it. I know the many knocks and “falls” I had have given me my spine and bone problems today. They say trauma can really mess up the growing bones. I hope at least the schools are more caring in the damage they do, so other youngsters don’t have to suffer so. You English boys sure were a tough lot.
Get better, and I will be thinking of you. I sent Ron a message at work that you were suffering.
Hugs and warm pads for you,
Scottie
Scottie
There’s absolutely no doubt that rugby is responsible for the knee problems I’ve suffered since teenage and is quite probably the cause of the spinal problems as well.
Of course it was all OK, they were making “men” of us so that justified everything.
Love
Mac