Looking back the time of leaving school was traumatic for me. All but a small handful of my friends were off to university and there I was unsure and panicky as what to do. I had long since realised my cognitive powers were ‘different’. I simply could not make notes and listen at the same time. If something interests me I drink in knowledge by listening. Indeed I seem to have an ability to anticipate the knowledge. When it came to ‘A levels and the like my notes were pathetic and hence revision was a nightmare as I had to rely on textbooks that seldom presented info in those days in a usable way. Non of this matters now as looking back not going to university was a good thing for me, it really was.
My Headmaster realised this and sent me to work in Liverpool for a Stockbroking firm. It was truly shocking to me. Gone was the discipline and order of a strictly run elite academic establishment. The fairness and good manners of the pupils replaced by a mixture of impossibly pompous partners and local ‘lads’ and ‘lasses’ all of whom spoke with a guttural accent similar to that dreadful bloke on Sky Sports. I was bewildered, lonely and very confused. The values of my school, excellence, were deeply ingrained and here I was working in a grey building in a city that felt hostile. I was lonely and in all truth depressed.
My school sporting record was pretty impressive if I say so myself. The school Old Boys Rugby team had fallen on hard times. In those days no cups no leagues to mark out the status of a Rugby Club. One thing counted, your fixture list. The OB’s list was exemplary built upon decades of school produced rugby stars. The honours board in the club was a thing to behold and included a British Lion, Bill Howard. However in recent years the number of boys who decided not to return to Mersyside after graduation had risen to the extent that very few ever returned to wear the club colours save for some gala events when a ‘star studded’ team would be a match for anyone.
I was most unsure about joining the OBs as there recent record was dire and here I was having lost but 2 matches in 3 years- one of those was based upon the most biased display of a referee I have ever seen. KCS Southport be ashamed!
I was persuaded to turn out for the club third team one Saturday in early september. Or to be honest I was coerced. I should have smelt a rat as various grandees were on the touch line including the club’s County President the afore mentioned British Lion and many others. The game I can even remember. I was of course in a different class to the ‘old boys’ in the third team who used Saturday afternoon as a way to build a thirst. After the game the charm offensive started led by that most magnificent of men and someone whose memory I hold so dear to my heart TG Smith (Tiger). Tiger was to become my mentor in all things life. The dad I never had, the man who gave me life gifts that ranged from the ‘principles of gentlemanly courtship to playing poker when the stakes are high. Bless him.
The following week I sat in the First Team changing room surrounded by my team mates. We were about to Play Liverpool RFC. In their ranks were Fran Cotton, Tom Brophy, Peter Scurfield and Mike Slemen ( all of whom were either current our future England Internationals) The rest of them made up the all conquering Lancashire side of the day.
We were not without our stars, more later, but we were hopelessly outmatched and we got thrashed. I did my bit, was universally praised but my first taste of mens rugby was huge shock.
In those days any rugby club worth its salt had a communal bath. Two in fact, one for each team. They would be approximately ten feet square made of concrete and deep enough such that the smallest men would be able to sit in them with just their chin protruding from the water. We sat in silence in the bath as The Liverpool team celebrated their victory in the bath next door. I was nineteen years old and most of my team mates were in their late twenties or early thirties. What was next? Suddenly Steve Jones stood up and moved to the centre of the bath. The mood lifted. Steve was a scrum half who was erratic. Brilliant or else dire. His character similar in that he had mood swings like no-one else I have ever met. One moment passionate and insightful the next depressed and desperate. He was a linguist and spent his days being a courier in the summer in Europe. The most glamorous job in those days. He would sit at the front of a luxury coach as it moved around the continet serving a commentary on the history of various destinations usually to American tourists. His language skills made him a target it would appear and he always had some tale or other to relay of ‘conquests’ he had made in Granada or Lisbon or Paris of some adoring female from the Midwest.
Anyway there he stood, the water of the bath covering his modesty. There was a song of the day sung by a band called the Sherrels a group of Black women performed with a limited array of ‘actions’. I knew the song well. Jonesy had a good voice and he piped up. ‘Tonight your mine completely’ only to be joined at full volume by the rest of the ‘boys’. The volume was magnified by our surroundings and doubtless the water served to enhance the production. As the second verse started all stood. it was bizarre sight as some of the more athletic ‘well built’ men stood displaying their parts above the soapy soup. One image stays with me somewhat disturbingly! The actions of the original band were mimicked and the song finished and we all sat back down. The mood was changed and our production had made the Liverpool team realise that whilst our rugby might not be what it once had been we were still group of men that could put on a show. Looking back it was unspeakably cool it really was. For many years after this day I sang that song in victory (not often) and defeat. When we visited other clubs we were often called upon to do a reprise in the club house so all could watch. Win or loose it gave us all a swagger. It invited the question ‘do you want to be in my gang’?
Looking back, although I had no idea at all at the time ‘my gang’ was quite a gang. Playing my part in that group of people was one hell of a challenge. The following year I got to be their Captain. Although I suspect the honour was more about keeping me in the fold that my leadership qualities. They all supported me though to a man.
Regarding that cast of characters I will mention some names so you may see just how potent force of men they were. Not sure if they all played that day but I played with all of these men and more.There was Noel Slater who had an England trial he was Captian of the Army RFC when it really meant something. He had been my house master at school and he eventually married into the McCartey family. JMT Rogers QC was eventually a high court Judge. in those days a magnificent athlete. Neville Duncan, possibly the funniest man you will ever meet but a great athlete too. He was placed third in The Krypton factor if you know what that is. Roger Blackwood who became an eminent cardiologist, he was an Oxford Blue. Martin Price, my best friend at the time. Hopelessly good looking a wonderful athlete who won the Krypton factor on national TV. The best rugby payer I ever played with and who would have graced any team in the world, honestly. John Howard (who dies climbing K2) Captain of Cambridge University and Bedford Rugby Club too (a leading club of the day). Michael P Burrel who was barrister but later became the Solicitor General of Hong Kong, George Ogrady a fabulous rugby player who loved golf more. He became CEO of the PGA in europe and ran the tour there. Look him up it is quite a CV. John Croker Oxford Blue and eminent physician, Peter Stafford star of Rosslyn Park and an Oxford Blue to boot. The list goes on but I now see the point of all this. There I was, in transition to manhood. Scarcely though I knew it at the time I had joined a ‘gang’, a very very exclusive gang full of potential personality and positivity. Individually all carried the school appetite for ‘excellence’ and thought we rarely delivered on the field, off it we were one hell of bunch. Being part of that group, of that gang, was so important for me because in later life as my business career progressed I seldom met anyone who would have got the better of that collective crew. If you could survive and flourish in the midst of that lot, ‘My gang’, (let alone lead it), then in difficult situations the odds of ones self confidence winning though was very likely. So it played out. It was great privilege to have been part of it.
My second song is as a result.
The Sherrels. Tonight your mine.!!
Tales of a Life Well Lived 