Flying Kiwis remembered — 40 years on

Press, 25 October 1985, Page 10

Flying Kiwis remembered — 40 years on

JOHN BROOKS

on New Zealand’s most popular rugby tourists.

The Kiwis, the rugby league type that is, are commanding the attention of the British sporting public as they pursue their winning way on the current United Kingdom tour. Forty years ago this week-end, a different breed of Kiwis - rugby union ones - were kicking off a tour which was to excite similar admiration in a Britain recovering from the ravages of World War 11.

They were the men of the 2.N.Z.E.F. side, an effervescent band of army footballers who did much to persuade people that after six years of bloody strife things were indeed returning to normal. This was a team which in the course of a strenuous tour played in England,

Wales, Ireland and Scotland, France and Germany, tackling 33 games, including five tests, and losing only twice. It was a team, too, which played rugby at a furious pace, provided sparkling entertainment and, above all, enjoyed every match. It was, in short, a great little team to belong to, so much so that two of its players were court martialled because of their mischievous moves to gain selection.

The two men were army officers from Christchurch, Captains N. J. McPhail and P. K. Rhind, and Neil McPhail recalled this week the extraordinary circumstances behind their inclusion in this most popular and successful team. Both men had been prisoners of war in German hands at the end of the conflict in Europe, and were enjoying a comparative life

of luxury once they. were repatriated to England. “Then we got a whisper that the tour was in the offering, so we hung on after our month’s leave in England,” he chuckled. “Every time a troop ship left for New Zealand we went missing.” But military authorities took a dim view of this capricous behaviour, and the two captains were court martialled and confined to barracks, to await the first available transport home.

All seemed lost - then one of the New Zealand’s most notable commanders, Major-General Howard Kippenberger, offered a glimmer of hope. “I knew ‘Kip’ well because he had been my colonel in the desert,” Neil

McPhail said. “He told us there was to be a training course in Scotland to prepare officers for peacetime operations, so off we went.” It was all highly irregular, of course, and the barracks commander was furi.ous. But the two cunning captains got their way and, as a consequence, took their first step towards winning a place in the Kiwis. The International Rugby Board members would have a collective coronary if the New Zealanders’ preparation had taken place these days. About 70 uniformed triallists indulged in six weeks of training, which included work-outs twice a day impromptu games, and then proper trials in the final fortnight.

“At a time when millions of Britons were on the breadline we were having three good army meals a day and living like fighting

cocks,” McPhail mused. Therein lay one of the reasons for the Kiwis’ subsequent success. At the end of the six weeks, when the team was chosen, the players were leaping out of their skins with fitness. The army life had kept them in good physical shape, anyway, and the training camp provided the fine tuning. Not many of the New Zealanders had experienced first class rugby before they were enmeshed in the war, and only one of them, Charlie Saxton, the captain and No. 1 half-back, had played for his country. In contrast, the renowned 1919 New Zealand Army team contained

10 pre-war All Blacks, one of whom, incidentally, was “Nuts” Hasell, an uncle of Neil McPhail’s.

But after being carried to rugby eminence on the crest of the Kiwi wave, 16 of the players went on to appear for the All Blacks. It was a tribute to the philiosophy of the man who had preceded them in that distinction, the irrepressible Saxton. “He really believed in moving the ball,” said McPhail, sifting through his memories of the man who made possession, pace and position into the celebrated “Three Ps” of rugby. “Charlie was a great captain, and he drove us, cajoled us, encouraged us to keep the ball humming. We built our play around that, and we never looked back.” The Kiwis scored 124 tries in Britain and Europe, plus a further 21 in five games in New Zealand be-

fore they disbanded. Significantly, a big proportion was scored by the wings, of whom the “Big Horse,” Jim Sherratt, snared 24. Probably his most famous try was the one which led to the defeat of Wales in the test at Cardiff Arms Park. Wales had never lost to a New Zealand side at the famous ground, and Neil McPhail recalled that the Kiwis were determined that this was a match they were going to win. “We were going to take that game by hook or by crook, even to the extent of putting 16 men on the paddock,” he said emphatically. “We were sick of being told

‘Wales will beat you, boyo’ by those sing-song voices.” Sherratt was a relaxed, dreamy type; the last time McPhail saw him, earlier this year, he still had a faraway look in his eyes. On the day of the Welsh game in 1945, big Jim was having a little snooze out on the right wing when he became aware if the sudden presence of the ball near his knee-caps, propelled there aware of the sudden preshasty clearing kick. Shocked into action, Sherratt caught the ball in front of his shins and ran like a man possessed for the goalline, 60m distant. Some spectators swore that he was moving so fast that he was bent over like a staple for half the distance. The Welsh were outflanked, Sherratt scored behind the goal-posts, and Bob Scott, who coverted, then kicked two penalty goals for the

Kiwis to win 11-3. The knives were out in Wales, and the full-back who made the injudicious punt to Sheratt never played for his country again. The Kiwis also beat England, handsomely, and France, narrowly, twice, but lost to Scotland. The only other loss was to Monmouthshire, at Pontypool, on a murky day when Saxton pulled a leg muscle when heading for a try between the goal-posts. But for a Britain bombed ragged by the Germans and deprived of many of life’s enjoyments, the Kiwis symbolished the reality that the war was over and that life was coming back to normal. They played rugby with a zest that sent spectators away rejoicing. The greatest expression of this feeling occurred on a bleak winter’s day in Glasgow. Despite four inches of snow on the pitch, the Kiwis gave Scottish Universities the run-around to gain their biggest win, by 57-3. “They were so cold that they just kept biffing the ball about and it rarely touched the ground.” It was on this occasion that Ron Dobson, whose play was described as that of a “demented butterfly,” ran three-quarters of the length of the field, dummying and side-stepping outrageously, before lobbing a pass infield when he thought he heard a call. Realising that no-one was there, he sprinted after the descending leather, caught it, and scored behind the posts. Neil McPhail was a prop with definite hopes of winning a place in the 1940 All Blacks to South Africa - a tour which was stymied by the war. He was 28 in 1940 and although he jokingly professed to be still 28 at the end of hostilities, an injury in France helped him see “the writing on the wall.” His experienced eye brought into focus the bar-rel-chested Johnny Simpson, otherwise “The Goose” or the “Iron Man,” as the coming prop in New Zealand rugby. So Captain McPhail, one of only eight officers in the team, became floating wet canteen impressario, a task which was a little more difficult than it looked. “We were designated an army unit, so we received an army issue of grog,” he said. “The trouble was that most of it was whisky, and none of us drank whisky. So my chief job was to arrange swaps. There was a little bar in Paris where I could exchange one bottle of whisky for six of champagne, and although I suspected I was being diddled on the deal we couldn’t really complain.”

The Kiwis did not know what to do with 180 bottles of champagne at a time. They washed Pat Rhind’s hair with it one night - with no noticeable effect - and the perky Ike Proctor hit a British officer in the head with a cork in an officers’ mess.

The trip back to the Antipodes posed a problem, for the Kiwis were placed on a “dry” ship. But their ingenuity did not begin and end on the rugby field, and they smuggled on ample refreshments to ease the monotony of the long cruise south. Imagine their horror, therefore, when on reaching Australia they learned that the N.Z.R.F.U. had kindly arranged a mini tour of New Zealand for them. So, four months after their last game in Europe, they were back in action, still possessing the famous spirit but lacking the same hardness and fitness which had carried them to so many victories. Still, in the match against Canterbury - which was McPhail’s last game - the Kiwis recaptured their rhythm brilliantly and scored eight tries in a big win. They beat Otago and Wairarapa-Bush, too, and drew with Auckland when the home side scored the equalising try in slap-stick circumstances. But there was none of that merriment in the game which wound up the playing life of the Kiwis - the match against Wellington. Before a big crowd at Athletic Park, a crowd which included their beloved, General “Tiny” Freyberg, the man who inspired the formation of the Kiwis, the soldiers went down, 11-18. There was nothing hanging on the result - except, perhaps, the immediate direction New Zealand rugby would take. Wellington settled that one by playing it tight up front with its tough pack and using two hard-tackling midfield backs to break up the Kiwi thrust. It worked well for Wellington, but McPhail claimed that the home side reneged on a deal. “They (Wellington) swore black and blue beforehand that it would be a running game, not airy-fairy stuff, but good open rugby,” he said. “If we hadn’t won, yet the score had been something like 22-25, the style of play would have been remembered. “But Wellington did everything they said they wouldn’t do. The Kiwis were peeved after the game. But i who can you blame? They knew they had been outmanoevered. “That game set rugby back a long way - we went right back to the doldrums

after that. If the Kiwis’ influence had been allowed to flourish, the game in New Zealand would have run on its own volition for the next 20 years.” But if New Zealand rugby eschewed the Kiwi style of play at least the selectors embraced many of the team’s players in national teams.

Fred Allen captained the All Blacks from 1946 to 1949, and among his men were three of the Kiwi wings, the strong running Wally Argus, master of the

ramrod fend, Bill Meates and Eric Boggs, both vigorous attackers and stout defenders. Then there was Jack Kearney, of the sandpaper voice and flypaper hands, “Goldie” Grant, one of the great line-out forwards, Simpson, who became undisputed king of the front row, and “Killer” Arnold, who was said to devour half-backs for breakfast. Bob Scott became one of the legends of New Zealand rugby, with his immaculate play at full-back. Yet on the Kiwi tour he was matched by his rival in that position, Herb Cook, a top-heavy man with tiny feet who would have blossomed under contemporary rules. He was the tour’s top scorer with 138 points, and later went “up north.”

Other Kiwis chosen for New Zealand in post-war years were Neville “Nutcracker” Thornton, Alan Blake, Dobson, Garth Bond, Jack Finlay and Johnny Smith.

Finlay was a wonderful loose forward, and,' as a pack leader, he was a con-

stant inspiration to the others. As Neil McPhail says, “he was a tiger to go - hell, that man could run.” But the greatest of the Kiwis was, by common consent, Smith, “J B” to his colleagues. Asking one of the Kiwis whether he thought Smith was a great footballer would be akin to asking Ron Don whether the All Blacks should go to South Africa. Neil McPhail rates Smith with Bert Cooke, the fabulous fiveeighths of the 19205. “He was a team man to

the utmost. I don’t know what passed through his mind, but he could size up play in a flash and put his wings into scoring positions. He didn’t score that many himself, but every so often he would get one that mattered. And he always seemed to know he could do it.” Today the Kiwis mourn Johnny Smith, who died at the early age of 52. But at their reunions they still talk about the genius of the man on the football field, and his immense contribution to an unforgettable tour. Even Bryn Thomas, a trenchant critic of New Zealand rugby, was moved to write a sensitive tribute to the Kiwis. “Everyone loved them. They were the best mixers off the field and the happiest players on the field ever to visit the British Isles. Their influence on the game was considerable, and they were the only post-war New Zealand side to smile on the field of play.” They had plenty to smile about, too.