FRENCH VICTORY OVER WALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18587, 12 October 1928, Page 12

FRENCH VICTORY OVER WALES.

EXCITED SPECTATORS AT RUGBY MATCH. For one. accustomed to the dignity and grandeur of Twickenham on a Rugby Internationa?-Day, the spectacle of 5000. Frenchmen assembling at- the Stack: de Colombes on a recent holiday to see their beloved countrymen matched against the Pays de Galles (which being interpreted is Wales) was a unique experience (says a writer in the "Christian Science Monitor,” Boston)

Was it possible to expect a French victory? For twenty years France had been trying for one without success. A leading article in the newspaper Auto on the morning in question entitled "Peut-etre?” (“Perhaps?”) gave a brief summary of a.l! these matches, which were played either in. France or Wales over that period; and what a series of defeats l

From the very first occasion in 1908 the account seemed full of disappointments and disillusionments, which must have caused many a heart to beat sadly anmong those who had the interests of French Rugby football at heart. But to-day. with the sun shin ing brightly' overhead, warm enough to bring out the cheerful crowds, but not so strong as to dazzle the players, there was something in • the atmosphere which seemed to betoken that, if ever a run of defeats might be broken, it would be in the coming game.

A char-a-bancs from the Madelaine rattled through the Parisian suburb. l to the Stade de Colombes where, for the sum of five francs, we received through a small pigeonhole iti the wall, tickets of admission.

We arrived on the ground about 1.3 C and took up a position on the. rear flank of the goal posts. The first impression of Stade de Columbes is veri good indeed. There are plenty of cov ered seats and large slopes at eacl end, obviously designed to give even one a good view.

And the crowd—well, could anyone get an idea of a French bank-holiday crowd except by being present oi a similar occasion? The noise, the laughter, the chocolate-sellers throw ing their goods over people’s head: and catching the money, the cheer fulness, all simply beat description.

"Mademoiselle’,’ was naturally wel. represented. Perhaps she had not come further than from the Boulevard Pois sonniere or Rue des Petits Ecuries, bu. what did that matter? Some wa; throws a screwed-up newspaper at an acquaintance in the neighbourhood, and that is sufficient to set the crowd going. A band strikes up amid general cheer.s, and the friendliness of the crowd takes a further leap forward. "Monsieur,” one asks the gentleman on one’s right, "est-il possible that le President de France arrives pour voir the game, peut-etre he will shake hands avec les joueurs, n’est-ce pas? Peutetre General Joffre? Le Rai George V., does this beau Coup a Londres.” The reply to this seems to be in the negative, but at any rate the ice has been broken, and an enjoyable conversation follows in pidgin French and English on the respective merits of the players and other points of mutual interest.

Three o'clock. The teams come up out of what seems to be a large hole in the ground, amid frantic handle turning by an army crops of cinema men and deafening huzzas from the crowd. The band strikes up “God bave the King” (the crowd standing to atten tion) and eventually struggles through it, though with difficulty, followed by the “Marseillaise,” with which it is completely at home. The Kick-off. The game commences and the crowd proceeds to work itself up to a frantic pitch of excitement. One thing is perfectly clear after a short period of the game—and that is that every spectator looks upon each member of the team as brother and will see only the good in him. whatever mistakes he may be making. Ah! Pelissier! Le brave full-back! Prenez garde, Monsieur! Ah-h ! La! la! la! Hurrah*! Amid deafening

cheers the full-back clears the ball into touch by the half-way line and France is saved again. Et les freres Andre and Ilenri Behoteguy! The ball comes out to them. Ah-h-h! Vite! Allez! Allez! Allez! Allez! (rising to crescendo accelerando from 5000 throats). Ach! the fullback of the Galles—Monsieur Male—sends Andre Behoteguy nearly into the spectators with a magnificent tackle. But the favourite of the crowd, who else could it be than Dupont, the scrum half—ah le petit Dupont! Ah mon ami! look! look! A la! la! la! la! la! Just like an eel he wriggles his way through only to finish tip with three of the biggest Welsh forwards sitting on top of him. Back, forward flies the game. Twice the French are over the line, but are called back for a scrum. Half-time is within a few minutes and no score on either side wJien—oh ! la! la! Powell intercepts a pass and dashes over the line to give Wales the lead for the second half.

With Fourteen Men. Ah! mon ami! How shall we;do? We are now only fourteen players, le brave Camel having had to retire early in the game. But oh, what a change within a short period of recommencing! Un effort tres magnifique—in which all the French back .division have a share—sends Houdet- in- for an unconverted try, after a forty r .yard run for the line. Then both sides .wake up—also the spectators! Oh! -.La! 'la! Allez! Allez! Allez! . A drorte ; ■ a gauche! The Welsh -forwards are sweeping -down the field,’ the ball at their feet. La! la!' Alas! who can stop them ? Ah, but the brave Dupont, with a magnificent fall-on-the-bail, stays the rush, and the huzzas of the crowd rise higher, than the Eiffel Tower.

Whisk! A la! la! la! The Behotegv.ys have it, voila ! Mon ami! Allez ! Allez! Allez ! Vite! Vite! Allez ! Allez ! Allez ! Ala ! la !Ja ! Passez maintenant! Ala! la! Encore ’passez! Ah-h-h-h-! Hourah-lvh-h-h-h-h-h-h! Houdet scores entre les pbstes and Henri Behoteguy adds the two points. Now can we hold them? We must.! We shall! The cry of Verdun ten years ago is heard—lts 'nc passeront oas! but ah! they, very .nearly do. A Welshman is actually over the line when somehow the ball falls out of his hands.

Three minutes more of almost, indescribable scrimmage, and then the whistle blows.

Captain Honoured. Can anything restrain . the crowd? The captain is carried off the field shoulder high by the team amid ouder cheers than Csesar ever hoped for. In such manner is history made, md nobody can say that the fight was not glorious and the victory in the balance until the last moment.

All that remains to be done rjow is d get away from the ground as quickly as possible, and in this respect the Stade de Colombes becomes the exact reproduction of Twickenham, in that there is a charming slow march from ground to station, with 10 000 people trying to catch the same train.. - Nevertheless we eventually reach the Gare St Lazaire and sink into a comfortable seat in the Cafe d'Eeosse. Bon soir. ‘ Monsieur! ! . Bon soir, mon ami! ! Take care of yourself!

Golf Versus Butter Fat. A change is coming over our farmers. —or at least some of them (says a writer in the Melbourne “Globe") . There was. a time when they all went to the Show and talked about nothing but. pigs and sheep, crops and machinery, subjects pertaining to their living. They still do. of course, but not so much as formerly. The craze for golf has swept through the country like a bush fire, and you will find many farmers rushing round Mel bourne golf courses swinging furiously at the little white ball and otherwise putting the same energy into the game as they would put into rounding up a mob of, yearling cattle. I have a friend who has been, coming regularly to the show for the-past 16 years, but this year he has spent some of his time playing golf. lie has a hankering to reduce his golf handicap. Fortunately, he is comfortably situated and need not worry about a wolf growling at his door. I played, with him on Wednesday afternoon and ho didn’t even mention “Cow.” He inquired anxiously if his back swing were in order, however, and if his follow through were correct. Whether he should hit under the ball or through it was a subject which seemed to interest him more than the percentage of butterfat his herd produced. This farmer has worked mighty hard all his life, and now he feels it is time to play a while. Who will grudge him this pleasure? Too much work makes Jack a dull boy.