RUGBY FOOTBALL IN THE EARLY DAYS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18450, 28 April 1928, Page 7

RUGBY FOOTBALL IN THE EARLY DAYS.

FOUNDING THE CODE IN CANTERBURY—MR MONTAGUE LEWIN’S RECOLLECTIONS.

No. VII. (By THE REMINISCENCE MAN). “ I think.” said Mr Montague Lewin, to the Reminiscence Man. “we have fairlv well traversed the various stages of the game of football until its evolution to the Rugby code. One thing, though, I would like a chat with one of the heads of Rugby in Canterbury to-day. I cannot get out and about at present, as you know, so if you could ask Charlie 7- to call, so that I could discuss with him some of the points I have raised, and which I think would be for the betterment of the game, I would be pleased. A promise to do so was given by the Reminiscence Man.

On Another Field of Sport. “ I see the polo tournament is just over.” remarked a visitor, to Mr Lewin, in an interval in the chat, “but things are very different in regard to the game to the time when you and I played, Lewin. They have regular racehorses now, and there seems to be no limit as to height. The big horses are not so good on the turn as the ponies. You and I had something to do with polo, didn’t we?”

“We did,*’ agreed Mr Lewin. '‘You, I and Frank Egan formed the first polo club in Christchurch, do you remember that? Frank Egan and I had two ponies apiece, but the rest of you, I fancy, only had one each. Among our members were George Palmer, Beauchamp Lane, Gus Bennetts and Captain Quick. Our ground was up Fendalton way somewhere; what was known as Walton’s paddock. I couldn’t lind it now if I tried.” “It was where Dr Acland s house now is.” informed his friend, “ off Brown’s Lane, St Albans.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr Lewin. “As we were short of ponies we used to play alternate ehukkas in order to save che ponies. The ladies were wont to turn out in good force and give us afternoon tea. We also played on what is Sydenham Park now, and I recollect one time Bertie Archer, manager then of Miles and Co., and I were charging at one another, when my girth bioke, and I landed clean over the pony’s head with the saddle between my legs. This happened right in front of where the ladies had their afternoon tea table, and I couldn’t help laughing at the spectacle I must have presented. When I looked up I found that Bertie had also come off his pony in a similar way to myself, and, as he thought that I was laughing at him, he looked as if he would go for me. He was a very peppery fellow. By the way,” addressing his friend, “ you would remember that cream pony I had. I had to put a muzzle on him afterwards, as he acquired the habit of trying to swallow the ball, and one day we had a deuce of a job to extract it from his mouth.” “ I didn’t last very long as a polo player,” remarked the visitor. “ I only had one pony, and it went lame.” Coach for Canterbury Rowing Club. “ Did I ever take an interest in rowing?” The Reminiscence Man had put a question. “ I did,” answered the versatile sportsman. “ Rowing was a great sport here in the early days, but there was only the one club, Canterbury. I undertook the coaching of one of the crews in the club, and was getting them into rare trim, when some genius offered four pewter .pots to be competed for. At this particular period the crew I had in hand were by no means perfect, and they wanted to enter for the race. I told them that if they did so, and competed, they would only knock themselves back in their training work. As the}' persisted against my advice in contesting the pewter pot event, I chucked up the position as coach. The West Coasters Win. “ One time a West Coast four, composed of sawmillers, challenged the

Canterbury Club to a race. The challenge was accepted, and the \\ est Coasters came over, bringing their boat with them. I recollect that crew well, and the . gorgeous scarlet blazers which thev wore. The Canterbury Club gave them all the facilities of their shed for training purjk>ses, and the first thing the West Coasters did was to order a hogshead of beer, which was duly placed in the quarters allotted to them. While training, they appeared to drink this beer at any time - before going out for training, on returning or while resting in the clubhouse. Of course, with real West Coast hospitality, they also entertained any callers to a draught of ale. The Canterbury crew had T. S. Baker as stroke. Baker had rowed No. 7 in the Oxford crew at Home. When the day of the race came, the betting was all in favour of the Canterbury crew. The event took place on the northern shore of the Waimakariri, but the particular locality I could not point out .to you now if I was paid to do so. When the flag fell for the start, the West Coasters went away at a stroke of about forty* to the minute, which highly amused - the spectators, who were all saying. ‘ They’ll come back to them directly,’ but the sawmillers lasted out the course, even at the furious pace they set, the Canterbury crew being a bad second. The course rowed over was rather a good one. The Avon was not fit for races then, and has never been so. There are too many curves and too many shallows, and then a big trouble at one time was the weeds. The only way to make the river fit for pleasure rowing or practice purposes would be to insjtal locks, such as are to be found on the Thames. In my time the locks there, and I suppose they are the same to-day, were only opened for big craft. On reaching a lock, oarsmen would run their boats up on to a runway, and haul them past the lock, launching again on the further side. I see there is talk of sending a New Zealand eight to the Olympic Games, and they should send Ayres as coach, because he is a ripping good man. A Real Enthusiast. • “ While on the subject of rowing, I must tell you of a peculiar incident which occurred to me one evening while I was driving to Southbridge on business. Just as I was nearing Springston, my horse pricked up its ears and started to gel up on its toes. It was a little after dusk, and I could see nothing to cause such behaviour, but I knew that the horse must have sensed some sort of trouble in the vicinity. Presently there appeared in front of me the queerest object I have ever seen. It appeared as if a crocodile was wriggling its way along the road. When I got a proper view of the object, it turned out to be a vehicle on wheels fashioned in the shape of a boat, and propelled in the manner of a railway jigger. ‘What the devil is this?’ I called out, and the man in the machine, J. R. Campbell, a prominent member of the Canterbury Rowing Club, stopped and exhibited his boat to me. It was a most wonderful and weird contraption. J.R. was a most enthusiastic oarsman, a powerful chap, and for exercise he used to run up to town in this * boat.’ Of course, the country he travelled over was mainly flat, and the roads then were good. His brother Michael was also a good oarsman. As far as I know, that ‘ boat ’ is still somewhere out Southbridge way to this da}-.’* '

Comparisons Are Odious. “Of course, you remember Mr Warner, of Warner’s Hotel?” Mr Lewin said to the Reminiscence Man. “ Well one evening I was dining there, when there was a regular bounder from Dunedin at the table. He ran down every blessed thing that was served. The fish was no good—they were used to far better fish 1 down in Dunedin. The oranges! Why no fruiterer.would dare to put such pulpy things in his window. And so on, and so on. Now, as you know, Warner was very proud of his table, and by the time dinner was over he had become very hot under the collar, but he showed his apger in a peculiar way. He called the Dunedin man aside, and invited him to have a drink in the bar. The man from the south needed no second asking. Other customers came in and the drinks went around, Warner doing his share nobly, until the Dunedinite was showing decided signs of wear and tear. Then Warner beckoned a waiter, and told him to take the guest up to his room. The waiter saw the man from Dunedin well on the way to disrobing, and then retired, locking the door behind him, Warner meanwhile standing at the bottom of the staircase. Presently there was a tremendous howling and yelling from the room. Warner thereupon went up the stairs, opened the door and entered. The guest was standing, shivering and shaking, in the middle of the floor. “ Wh-What’s in that bed?” he gasped. Warner turned down the bedclothes and at the foot of the bed there was a real old-man' crayfish. “That!” Warner said, turning to the Dunedin personage. “ That is only an ordinary Christchurch bed flea? Have you anything to beat that in Dunedin?”