Rugby at Wells Cathedral school: with particular emphasis on the first 15
This piece was written in 2003, and updated in 2018.
I had first played rugby in the Junior school. I think I made my debut for the school in the Third year, for the U10s. I stood at centre and got cold as I stood and watched most of the game take place some way away from me.
There were lots of opportunities to play sport’; we played football on two days and rugby for two days. I loved the sport. Football was my first love but I also enjoyed rugby.
The head coach was Mr Winter, a young and enthusiastic housemaster. He was supported by my father, Philip Peabody, and Major Carslade, who was very much of the ‘old school’; he was a dapper retired Major, with silver hair and a dashing moustache; he always wore baggy white shorts, thick woollen socks and white plimsolls.
We played in thick woollen jersey in the school colours; on cold days you wore several shirts to keep warm. On rainy days the jerseys soaked up water and weighed you down.
Even U10s games in those days were full on contact games with proper scrums and line outs. We were taught how to pass and catch and how to scrummage; but mostly, we were taught how to tackle: “the taller they are, the harder they fall” being the mantra. We were encouraged to tackle low, around the ankles, as this would un-balance the opponent and bring him down.
Our great rivals were the Downs school. When I became part of the Junior school first XV, the name of ‘The Downs’ became something almost mystical. They were made more mysterious by the fact that they seemed to belong to no actual place. Where exactly were these ‘downs’? Was this some secret place that produced super human rugby players?
It was not until decades later that I came upon the actual geographical location of The Downs, somewhere in the middle of nowhere south of Bristol.
I was once mildly admonished by Mr Winter in the dining rooms for apparently suggesting we might not beat them. Apparently we never had (beaten them) and the quest to do so was some sort of Holy Grail.
Games against other schools were big events, supported by scores of parents who filled the foggy air on Cedars field with cries of ‘On, on; On, on”, as the forwards inched forwards through the mud. Most games were attritional forward battles – none more so than the game against the Downs that I played in. The game finished 0-0, an almost impossible scoreline. I was playing in the centre and possibly touched the ball once or twice.
We were quite a decent team; we had skilful players like Craig Massey, Richard Flower, David Gillen and David Adams; Colin Wilkins won virtually every scrum as the hooker, a role he continued throughout his school career. Andrew Pring was an immense forward. Being part of the rugby team was an honour; even in the junior school one was very aware of how important this game was.
I continued playing throughout the senior school. We were taught by various teachers, Mr Naylor and Mr Johnson amongst them. I was usually a centre or fly half. I never got involved with the stuff that forwards did. That was far too tough. I stayed out back, catching, passing and kicking. We would normally beat most teams but lose to the likes of Queens and Kings Taunton, Prior Park, Bath, and Kings Bruton. Games against the Wells Blue School had a certain potential frisson, but more in myth than reality. The pins that their boys allegedly bought to stick in to our players at scrums never materialised and we would usually beat them in decent games, our better organisation and greater experience the telling factors.
For sport, the Upper Fifth year joined up with the two sixth form years, so instead of, say, Under 15s, there was a first, second and third team for the three major sports: rugby, hockey and cricket. Thus, I ,the Upper fifth, you had to start playing sport with boys from years above. Sport suddenly became quite serious. In rugby, you were now training at the same time as players like James Adams and Giles Bailey. Giles was by some way the best player I played with or against. He played scrum half. He was quite small but had an incredible strength and energy, playing every training session with a great intensity and will to win. It was impossible to get the ball off him.
He was hard. He was so good and committed that he never needed to show any outward arrogance. His performances spoke for themselves. He showed a respect for other players who tried, and I respected him for that (from afar, as I would not have been in his inner circle).
I was selected for the 2nd XV for rugby. The side was made up of boys from all three years, although most of the team were sixth formers.
For away games, there would be a long bus journey followed usually by a walk around the school and inspection of the pitch and then a long period getting changed. There would then be a ‘psyching up’ session in the dressing room before the game. The captain of the 2nd XI was Steve Budd; he took the ‘psych ups’ to levels of intensity I had never before experienced; by the time the game started he would be in a frenzy, having extolled us to hurt, maim and even kill the opposition. It was pantomime stiff. I never really bought into the ‘psych ups’. I was too quiet and introverted, and I had nothing against the boys whom we were playing. As the poncey fly half, I was in the side for my kicking and handling skills so wasn’t expected to get too involved in the bloodletting anyway.
I did OK in the second XV purely on the fact that I could kick a ball. When we were under pressure I could kick us out of pressure, and when we were attacking I could kick balls for our fast wingers to run on to.
The First XV.
Mr Gillen ran the First XV. He had played for Ulster and there was talk that he had come very close to being selected for Ireland. At the time he was the Housemaster of Cedars school and lived in the flat at the top of Cedars house with his wife, Anne, and two sons, David and Andrew. Mr Gillen taught Geography and 20th century history.
Mr Gillen was tough but very fair, and a dedicated coach who lifted the standard of rugby at Wells Cathedral school. All who played in his teams respected him immensely, knowing that he would never ask any of this players to anything that he would not do himself, and for being absolutely committed to his players. If you were in his team you would run through walls for him. I have played in many teams over the years in various sports and I realise what a gift this is to be able to motivate your players to go beyond their apparent abilities. Only once in my sporting life outside of school have I come across another coach who could engender that level of respect and loyalty.
The first term of my sixth form life was dominated by rugby.
Mr Gillen picked me for the First XV for the first game of the season.
I had played well the previous season for the 2nd XV but I never expected to be chosen for the Firsts so soon.
My debut was made at Milton Abbey School, in Dorset I think David Adams, Colin Wilkins and Jason Dalby also made their debuts that day; we had all played together since the U10s. I was very nervous that first game.
As for all away games, we went by coach, and the journey to Milton Abbey seemed to take forever.
The older players in the side appeared to be so self confident, with their constant banter and braggadacio. The skipper was Duncan Stone, who played at wing forward. As a new, quiet boy, I was on the end of plenty of what might be called “good natured banter”. Much of this came from David Horlock, supported by various acolytes.
The pre-match warm up, taken by Duncan Stone, was more intense and more serious than the comic rantings of Steve Budd that I’d experienced in the seconds. This was real rugby.
Horlock never seemed to stop talking and joking and larking around on the coach and in the changing room, loving his role as the court jester; most of his banter was good natured and when he got on to the pitch he worked bloody hard and with quite a bit of skill too. He was everywhere on the pitch.
The crowd that day at Milton Abbey seemed huge: loads of parents turned up for the games, and all their school was watching, constantly chanting ‘Abbey, Abbey, Abbey’. It was scary but also exhilarating. I just kept telling myself to concentrate, concentrate, and for God’s sake don’t anything stupid. If in doubt, play safe.
I was playing full back; I’d been chosen to play there because I could catch the ball and kick it. The game started at a frantic pace; it was so quick that there was no time for nerves: all my mental energies were concentrated on following the action. Early on in the game I had to mop up an attack – I managed to make a safe kick into touch. A few minutes later came my big test. Milton Abbey attacked, and got their backs moving; they moved the ball to their winger, and all of a sudden, I was the only player on our side between their winger and the try line. It was him or me.
The only thing that existed in the world for those few seconds was this tall, lanky lad with an oval shaped ball in his hand, bearing down on me. If I missed him, I would be ridiculed by my teammates, I would let down Mr Gillen, let down my Dad, who was watching, and I would be shamed forever. I watched his legs, crouched down low, and as he came at me, I put my shoulder into his knees. Their winger came straight down, dropping the ball, which spilled into touch for our throw in. I had saved a try, but more importantly, I had passed my first test and saved myself. I had stood up to their winger and I had tackled him.
Fear was my motivator at that moment: the fear of failure was so strong that I had no option but to succeed. Physically, success hurt like hell. My shoulders, neck and ribs were screaming from the impact. I made two more try saving tackles that game, and got a few kicks in. We won a hard game reasonably comfortably; I was excited and exhausted. I’d done all right, I’d done OK, and could return to the dressing room with head held high.
I’ve got no idea what I did that evening. Probably just stayed in and moped around. A year later, a game of rugby was always followed by three pints of Butcombe Bitter at the Star Inn, but I was yet to acquire the taste for regular beer drinking.
I was an ever present in the first XV following the Milton Abbey game. I was still nervous before each game, but growing in confidence too; besides, nerves are an essential part of preparation for a competitive game. Full back was a lonely position, you were neither one of the forwards or the backs, but you were left alone to patrol the rearguard, to defend your teams try line. For much of the game you watched the battle unfold, then you would be forced to make a telling and decisive contribution, I came to love the lonely responsibility the position afforded. [I made it my own: I became The Silent Assassin.]
Every game I had to pull off one or two crucial tackles, and in my mind, I became unbeatable. The tackles invariably hurt, probably because I wasn’t taking my opponent down from the side, using the weight of my shoulder as a cushion, but rather I took them head on, low down (as we’d been taught back in the U10s). I found my technique worked so felt no reason to change it. As my opponent was flying at me, I focussed totally on his legs. I never looked at the ball. I crouched down low, settled myself, and lay in wait. When a few yards from me, my enemy would try to swerve around me; this was the crucial point: I had to be on my toes, ready to react and either spring to one side or the other, or sway with my enemy. Then when he was upon me, all was required was the requisite timing to get part of my body in the way of his, and effectively trip him up: the force of his own momentum would ensure he lost his balance and fell. Using this technique, my opponents invariably fell a long way as if poleaxed, and dropped the ball; they were rarely hurt. I however, usually was, because at impact it might be my head against his shin or knee that tripped him over. The opposition players always seemed so gangly and bony. I chipped a few teeth that year, from having my skull smacked by sharp bone, and only my gum shield saved me from a few more dental traumas.
The tackling part of the job was all well and good for my reputation and self-esteem,
however, it wasn’t really why I played the game. Anyone could tackle if they really wanted to, but it had taken years of kicking and catching balls- football, rugby, cricket, any type of ball – to learn the skills that now came to fruition on the rugby field. In that first game against Milton Abbey I made a few kicks into touch, under pressure, that made me realise that: perhaps I have a skill here that others don’t have.
In the next couple of games I built on that first game: in one of them I had to make a lot of kicks: I was kicking the ball to exactly the spot that I aimed for. From then on, I was filled with total confidence in my ability, and I became an integral part of the side. I was able then to develop other sides of my game, principally my running game. I had learnt from my own tackling responsibilities, that if an oncoming winger were to chip the ball over me and then run round me, that I would be left for dead, stuck on the spot. Fortunately for me, most of my opponents hadn’t worked this out, (I deduced that the quicker the opponent, then the less clever they would be) and I was safe in the knowledge that 95% of the time they would try and beat me through pace and strength alone. So I developed this tactic for myself, and started to take pleasure in beating bigger and faster opponents through guile and skill with the ball.
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Except for extra fitness sessions, we trained and played our home games at Tor Woods; there were two pitches, separated by a cricket square in the middle of the fields. At the back of the playing fields was an old wooden pavilion, some tackle bags and a scrum machine.
Before home games, the players would meet outside the back of Cedars House after the end of Saturday morning lessons, and throw a ball around. We would then all go in to lunch together, before changing in a cellar room in Cedars. The walk to Tor playing fields was long; down the Liberty, across St Thomas St by The Fountain, and then up to Tor woods. We would jog. Everyone’s metal studs became extremely sharp, but I don’t recall them being checked very often.
We would sometimes go in the rickety pavilion for a final ‘talk’ before the game, stamping our studded feet on the wooden floor as the final motivational act.
Walking past these fields recently, I was amazed to see that the pavilion was still there; it always seemed about to fall down 30 years ago, and I had assumed it would have been replaced years ago.
Away games were big days out. Usually there would be two or three teams travelling to the same school. There was a strict hierarchy on the bus: the first team at the back, any other sides toward the front. On the homeward journey, there was always a singsong. Occasionally there might be a rendition of the first verse of ‘Jerusalem’, but commonly the songs were somewhat more ribald. The final song was always ‘The Sloop John B’. (I always assumed, with some bemusement, that we were singing a pop song by the Beach Boys, having no idea of the song’s provenance as a traditional folk song called ‘The John. B sails’).
After games, we would meet the opposition for a ‘team tea’. For home games, these were in Cedars dining hall. Our teas were typically of the ‘sausages and chips’ variety, which was absolutely fine. One or two schools offered more sophisticated cuisine and these places became well known and their teas were the stuff of minor legend.
—HOUSE MATCHES——-
House matches were played towards the end of term, in midweek. Ritchie house usually won; the tradition was that ‘hard’ boys went to Ritchie and they expected to win at rugby. I was in Shrewsbury House, home to ‘steady Eddies’, ‘squares’, solid boys. De Salis was the home of artists and mavericks.
The games were fiercely competitive. In my first house match against Ritchie, I thought I was close to scoring a try; I was just a few yards from the line when I was knocked sideways off the pitch – breathless, shocked – by a tackle from Nick Booth. It was the hardest tackle I’d been on the end of in all my time at school, and I can still feel it now. Nick Booth was a great player who was passionate about the game. I believe a knee injury ended his rugby career.
In my final year at school Shrewsbury gave Ritchie a decent game. We had Jason Dalby and Tim Story in the scrum, and the younger guys – Rufus Phillpot, John Vallis et al fought for the cause; we did not win but we made it difficult for Ritchie to secure the House Cup that I suspect they considered to be theirs, by some kind of divine right.
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Prior to the start of each season, Mr Gillen always had about 30 boys in for pre-season fitness training. Some of the boarders returned early just for this. The sessions were held on Cedars field and were gruelling. We would have one session before lunch and one after it. A few of the lads went for a lunchtime pint and suffered for it in the afternoon.
Fitness training continued throughout the season. On top of scheduled ‘games’, there was a fitness session for the first XV players on Tuesday lunchtimes. After laps of the track we would do some intense drills, then we would always finish with Mr Gillens speciality – ‘Fartleks – usually twenty lengths of the pitch, alternating jogging and full-on sprinting. I was never the most athletic and found these sessions excruciating. On any longer runs I ended up near the back. I just about keep up on Fartleks, as there was a short breather after each sprint, but I was always behind the likes of Tim Storry, who I recalled telling me that he ‘thrived on the pain’. Mr Gillen would constantly extol us to greater effort us with his mantra: “I know it hurts boys, it’s meant to hurt!”
In the upper sixth I boarded at Shrewsbury, and in the first weeks of the Michaelmas term, as Mr Gillen put us through these intense sessions, I would often need to steal a nap on my bed between the end of school and tea. I think it’s fair to say I have never again been so lean or so fit.
In my second season in the team, I played at full back again, but with the confidence of one full season behind me, my game became more expansive. Whilst in my first season in the first XV I had concentrated on defence and playing safe, this season I scored a few tries, as I was able to ghost into the back line and finish off moves begun by David Adams, David Gillen and Julian Bath, all brilliant players who never dropped the ball. I also did most of the kicking.
We had quite a good season; we won most games.
We did not, however, beat our old ‘enemies’, the schools that traditionally we had found hardest to beat. Prior Park school in Bath were always feared because their team always included a number of black lads. We all swallowed the stereotype that black meant ‘big, strong and quick’. There was always an elemental feeling of fear to see a line of great big black blokes running at you. Queens Taunton also had loads of black players. This was a school I really wanted to beat. I’d been playing against them for 10 years, and they were always a bit arrogant. I’d never won any game against them.
We still had to play Kings Bruton, a school that were our fiercest rivals, although I had nothing against them. I somehow could not see them as bitter rivals. I’d have much rather have beaten Queens Taunton.
We played away at Kings Bruton in our penultimate match of the season, my final game for the school. Some of our boys were in a frenzy before the game. It meant a lot. For some reason I couldn’t get myself going. I had a shit game, probably my worse ever for the school first XV. [I PLAYED A PATHETIC, INSIPID GAME] I missed a couple of tackles that a year ago, and earlier in the season, I would have taken in my sleep. The fear that had driven me on when I first played for the first XV, that had made me tackle anything that moved, had gone. Now I was assured of my place and was leading scorer and perhaps I felt I had nothing to prove. I knew that day that I let myself and Mr Gillen down, and I was embarrassed; after the game he bought a crate of beer into the changing room, and on the coach home he told us how good a team we were, but I was disappointed with myself.
The next day I had to go to the Somerset Schools Rugby trials. It was considered quite prestigious to be even asked to go for a trial. In all honesty I was scared shitless about the step up in standard and – I expected – aggression, that would be on display.
This renewed fear drove me on, and in combination with my need to restore some self respect following my insipid performance the previous day, compelled me to play a blinder. I ended up getting selected for a final trial, and my ‘achievement’ was announced to the whole school at assembly. At the final trial I played OK, concentrating on playing safe. I did not get selected for the Somerset team. I always thought they would be beyond my level of ability and I wasn’t particularly disappointed. I feared being out of my depth and getting hurt.
The full back selected had already played for Somerset, so it was always going to be hard to break into the side. Dad, who’d come to watch the trial games, said it was a stitch up, that the selectors had already made their minds up before the trial.
I had always thought that the Kings Bruton game was my final one for the school, but recently (in the summer of 2016) I have read some Old Wellensians magazines posted on the OW web site, I have discovered that we played Queens Taunton the week after (and were thrashed). I suspect the team were deflated by that defeat to Kings Bruton, I remember nothing about my real final game, even though it was against the opponent I have described as being the school I really wanted to beat.
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—-FINISH –
Decades after leaving school, after years playing amateur sport, I began to realise that we might have actually been quite good at school. During the Michaelmas term, the first XV would have practiced two or three times a week and then played a match on Saturday. Perhaps in a good University sports team you might play and practice this much, but for most amateur team sport you might practice once a week and play a game at the weekend. At Wells I played with some of the boys for 8-10 years and we all learnt how to play together. The backs practiced running with the ball and throwing it down the line, time after time in training drills; it stands to reason that we might have got become good at it. David Adams must have thrown a ball out to me, from scrum half, hundreds, if not thousands of times, in practices and games, over a ten year period.
It was a privilege to play at such a level. Sometimes I dream about playing rugby for Well Cathedral School. I am not sure what this means, other than that , one, I might need to see a doctor, and two, that my experiences of playing rugby at school are embedded in my (sub)conscious.
See attached:
Some printouts from the Old Wellensians magazine, available on the web site, detailing the results of the first XV during the two years that I played for them – 1983 and 1984.
A scan of a menu from the First XV Rugby dinner in 1983
Roger Peabody 