IRELAND'S VICTORY

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume LXIII, 30 March 1929, Page 3

IRELAND'S VICTORY

RUGBY TRIUMPH OVER ENGLAND THAT "TWICKENHAM TRADITION" GOES WEST AN EXCITING CONTEST (From Our Own Correspondent) LONDON, Mill February. \Vlialcvov remained of tilio alleged "Twickenham tradition" wont West when Ireland met England I here last Saturday in what was probably the crucial matcli of Ibis year's international Hugger tourney. There was a splendid crowd, including platoons ot lively young excursionists with green berets 'and shrill Hibernian hurroos, bevies of (•harming blue-eyed, darkhaired colleens, all wearing emerald oreen sports-socks over their stockings, and, last but not least, the Duke ot York, who shook hands with the players before the kick-off. ■

To work up the feelings of the multitude, a bluejackets' band played martial airs in between pulsating bagpipes performances by the saU'ron-kilted pipers of the London Irish. This was, of course, before the battle, mother; anf a further sideshow was the agile swarming of the goalposts at one end by two naval petty officers, who, amid tl'ie enthusiastic cheers of the Saxons fixed the English colours at the summit of the two polos in that workmanlike way characteristic of the silent Service. Not to be outdone, two slim athletic Irishmen climbed the other goalposts, and duly adorned them with green scarves. And now about the match. It is an ancient, tradition that an Irish team always goes mad at some period or other of'the game. On Saturday they went, mad from the moment the whistle

sounded tho kick-oIT, and in that eondilioi) oE Hereto ecstasy they remained, witJiout any interval except tins usual lemon interlude at half-time, until (lie end of I lie mat i'li. It was a memorable demonstration r ,f tho sound old adage (.Lout attack being the best defence. The Knglishmen were overwhelmed by the Ferocious olnn of tho Celtic onslaught, and though the forwards showed the mettle of their Saxon pastures, I am afraid it must in- written down that most of (he English backs were rattled. It is an arithmetical fact that England were never ill an attacking mood more than half-a-dozen times in the whole game —twice when Cove-Smith led a solid phalanx of forwards irresistibly down the field; twice when Arthur Young, England's serum half, at last managed to elude Sugdon and make a characteristic sprint into (he Irish 25; and twice when (he English three-quarters were suddenly galvanized into something like life. The rest of die time the men in while, were desperately defending their own goal-line against a swarm oi green-jerseyed invaders, v. ho never seemed to'(ire. and whose movements were so brisk that England's full-back, Brown, of Bristol, must have thought the Irish team consisted not of fifteen but of thirty untamed dervishes. STORY 01? THE PLAY After one fearful lapse at (he very start of the game, when he fumbled near his own lino and gave away the first score of the match—an unconverted try to Ireland—Brown was impeccable. ' He went down to it, he lived laborious days collaring mad Irishmen, and he managed to get in safe touchkicks amid hordes of charging foes. It was not Brown who let England down. But compared with the Irish dash, the English team as a whole seemed lethargic. Aarvohl, the Cambridge captain and England's right centre, had a bad afternoon. Admittedly his halves were working badly. In the scrums England did at least as well as Ireland, but Young's passesout were poor and erratic, and Laird, at stand-oil' half, either fumbled the ball or made futile ell'orls to bullock through on his own. He never went two yards before smiting Mother Earth. Ireland's stand-off half, Davy, collared him every time with the air of a man who had won prizes for that sort of thing. Whenever Anrvolcl got the ball he got Mr J. D. Clinch, Ireland's fourteenstone wing-forward, in simultaneous combustion. Aarvold was palpably not enjoying himself. Sladen, of the Navy, England's in-side-left, had much more stomach for the light. England's one score the teams crossed over at half-time with Ireland leading by a try to nothingwas due to Sladems plucky dash when Arthur Young passed the ball straight from (he scrum to him. Sladen burst right through, sprinted from half-way to within the Irish '!■>, and passed to Aarvold. The latter was mowed down by Arigho, Ireland's sprinting wing-three-quarter; but Smcddle, who made the most of all his chances, gathered, the ball to cross the line, and', with the whole green pack in full cry, scored in a good position. Wilson kicked a good goal, and England miraculously took the lead with 5 points to 3. The only other occasion when England looked like scoring was when Young made his characteristic burst round a scrum and dodged down the Held.

A REAL vfAKE

England's new winger, young Wilkinson, was up to take his pass, but for once his usually safe hands betrayed him. He dropped tho ball when in a safe scoring position, and the Irishmen rushed it back to the English 25 remorselessly. The position now was that England led by two points after having about 5 per cent, of the play. The deadlv pace with which the game had been contested throughout did not slacken. It positively accelerated. There was wild excitement as Ireland penned England on the Saxon goal-line and kept up attack after attack, lie tackling of the Irish team has been described by experts as the finest ever seen on a football field. But 1 think it must bo conceded that the English tackling was desperately good. Otherwise England's line must have betn crossed a score of times. My recollection of this thrilling sustained attack is of green jersey after green jersey going down fiercely interlocked 'in tl'ie grip of white foemen. But at last the law of average? asserted itself Precfcolv as he did at the same snot on the fame ground two years ago, the übiquitous and slimly elusive' bugden stole away with the ball .from a scrum in England's 25. Promptly he encountered Periton, probably the most deadlv tackier on the English side _ Mas while) the hearts of all onlcoking English partisans stood still, Sngden sold Periton a dummy that positively talked' with an Irish brogue. Periton hesitated and Sngden was over the English line-'and a thousand Irish hats were in the air-in a jiffy. I doubt whether 50 000 peoplei have ever been so poignantly silent as when the redoubtable George Stephenson took the place-kick. It was a beauty, but it missed tho posts bix six inches: Still, Ireland led now bv 6 points to 5, and though tb« Eugli'shmen strove manfully, especially the forwards, to snatch victory from the iaws of defeat, there was only a lew minutes to go, and the Irishmen made no mistakes'about collaring the man or going down to the ball. No Englishman was'allowed to hold the ball long enou'di even lo think about selling dum-

mies. _ , , , ... And that's how Ireland burst the bubble of what remained of the Twickenham tradition. It is twenty-three years emco thev beat England on English soil, and thev wore thoroughly entitled to the first' class "wake" they held when the match was over. Their victory_was duo to the splendid fire and quick-witted clan of the whole team. Tho forwards were superb: solid and yet fast: and tho backs never fumbled and never counted the cost of a headlong tackle. Their great superiority was at. halfback. Sugdei and Davy completely eclipsed Young rind Laird. Clinch was tlie'master forward of the.' day. Apart from understudying ike. role of Siamese twin to Wi'vcla. lr.s kicking, cO'Lumu. and play in the loose' were brilliant. Stephenson seriously hurl himself early in the game, but lie played on, and 'never spared himself cither in running or tackling, though between whiles he was holding one hand to his injured side. When the final whistle sounded, .Ireland, swarmed across tho field, and carried its champions shoulder-high amid ovations of cheers to the dressing-room. And "after that, commandeering hundreds of cushions, a realistic demonstration of a bombing raid was carried out iii! night, the We: i Knd police m-fii ed what Mr Winston'Churchill calls "a certain liveliness" in Iho noighbomhuod c t Piccadilly Circus. And wherever one went, there was a cheerful Irish iune iu (lie air, the refrain ot which was "Ireland bv the rain/'