OLD – TIME RUGBY

Waipa Post, Volume XXIV, Issue 1577, 22 November 1924, Page 5

OLD - TIME RUGBY

FOOTBALL EPIDEMIC.

WITH APOLOGIES TO “OLD^

TIMERS.”

(By T. C. Grace, Pirongia)

Down the wind one famous winter came a terrible disease, like a fast and tireless sprinter it sped and spread on every breeze. It caught each sport and held him fast in a frenzied fever till winter’d past. The virus of this dread complaint attacked alike the sinner and saint. It was bad for .the eyes, the ears, and the clothes, .and altered the shape of many a nose; it twisted the joints and fractured the bones, still it had some good points, that were paid for in groans. It affected the voice, and made some quite hoarse, without any choice, they were happy or cross. Some would start fighting while others would play, ’twas always worse on a Saturday. It roamed thro’ the country, it stuck to the towns, with* persistent effrontery it cost some people pounds. Many managed to dodge its determined attacks, with just a few it would lodge till it made them “All Blacks.”

There were those who tried to stop it, once for all, by a system known as “drop it,” also “bowls” and “basket ball.” Notwithstanding this it grew, and it grew, and strange to say, it came to stay, and gave great bliss to quite a few. No matter where you go, be it near or far, ata certain season of the year, the thing is bound to reappear, right here in old Waipa. Some have had it for years back and seem quite sound, yet they risk a new attack whenever it comes round. Rain or shine they’re on the line, to loudly give advice to the squirming struggling mass who are prepared to die to gain a try, but never think to give a pass—they’ve only had it once or twice. Some describe it as a game, perhaps sarcastically, while again, others claim it’s just a form of lunacy, till they, too, victims fall, when they agree it’s just “Football.”

Well, it came to Te Awamutu, when the township was a beaut, when the gorse was wont to grow right down to Armstrong’s Corner where now the crepe de chines and ninons show. When the street was open clear from opposite the station to the corner facing Nation’s, where all the world and his relations lose their whiskers or their hair, when they step into the Chair—of Father Spear! Through .a riot of kerosene tins, where the tall weeds loved to grow, to the shop where old Jim Cooper made his dough;" sundry buildings drab and mean, with vacant plots between when the burgh became a borough had to go. Now the shops stand wall to wall, past the corner where Goodall sells the gear our players need, in any colour, cloth or tweed, to suit the taste, or fit' the waist, of all who follow football. Well it came to Te Awamutu, as I began to say, but got lost in contemplation, at the astounding alteration since Rugby came this way. With three cheers and a tiger hoot, they set Dame Rugby loose; as the ball careers from a Waipa boot, it starts that coy dame after many a flame, some of whom I will introduce. There were the Bowdens, Frank and Geoff, who sometimes seemed to be quite deaf, whenever Charlie’s whistle chanced to blow; we always had to mind our steps whenever they got going, hell for leather; they were reps who would dodge our men with neat sidesteps, and keep their scores agrowing. When we turned and made attack, they’d get down and hold us back; or snap her up and Tass to Bockett, he to Barker like a rocket. Lightning-like their speed as they started forth, to swing to North backed by Cunningham and Reid. If we worked her past Viv. Carley, who always played at full, we’d be stopped for sure by Charlie, who could never take a pull. With a Taylor or a Teasdale the ball would swiftly go, passing thro’ the hands of Holden, Ingham or Mandenof It was then a case of “stop ’em,” “block ’em,” or “darn ’em, let ’em go.” Charlie Bowden, in fairness I must say, was al\yays there, whenever he was wanted by ours or any other player; he was noted for his squareness, and unfailing genial air. They travelled Brockie North to Paterangi, and with him there went forth a doughty gang he loved to see; meet the Ryburns, who, with Chris and Lyn Macky, knew a thing or two. Charlie Sing and C. McCallum played together in the local scrum, with Ted Robieson, Alf. Smith and Harry May, who had a nose so high and thin it always used to shed its skin whenever Harry used it. in the play. Then there was old Jack Kay, who, tho’ he was thin was awful keen—he had the sharpest pair of shins I’ve ever seen; how they never cut someone it’s hard to say. Paterangi played a clean and heady game, Scott behind the pack would initiate attack; they could defend when danger came. Te Awamutu travelled Sid West to Kihikihi; he was classed among their best, tho’ it matters not the least for it really lies sou’-east as you can see. It was always wild and willing when they played Kihikihi, rather hard and sometimes thrilling, as if they meant to make a killing, when they’d rip and root at random and swing the boot with great abandon, very free. Charlie Wilson ran the Kihikihi forge, Bob Henderson, his shoer, was something of a doer. With Tom and Freddie Verner, and the Maunders Gus and George, Rakau Kay and Collie Mac; Collie as a rover was a power to any pack. There were few he couldn’t rattle; to all he would give battle, no matter whether they were white or black. Then these with Mick and Bully Harris, and the Corboys from the pub, Chick and Dina Thompson and Jim Gardiner, were the nucleus of their Club. We travelled south to Otorohanga before the advent of the car, where the track was rough and longer, and the folk ate pork and puha; before the fern was turned to grass, when the trains would run but once a week, and ’twas a sight to see them pass. When the unbridged track traversed swamp and creek, and the unlabelled grog was lightning streak a mixture of vitrol and dynamite; when there were logs to burn, and dogs to bite, and the place with its pigs was a porky sight. Their ground was a field of moulded spuds, they had some good men, and some great duds. Davey Turner was good, but their best was Carr, this lad in those days was a Waipa star. Ratima, Eveleigh, Wilkinson, Bailey and Barrett whose

hair, like TDavey’s, toolt. the' hiiie of the carrot. There. was Tu and ' Tipu, Tommy and Tai, who .were considered by any hut the selectors kapai. They met the wild Pirongias when the bloom was on the furze; the men from hill and valley, the, men from bush and range, for miles around would rally in garments, weird and strange. They’d come from farm and navvy camp, some would ride and others tramp. All were of a sturdy stamp, and some would play in spurs. There were Harp and Harper, Tewa and Box, hard in their dials and tough in their blocks. Jim Prentice, Joe Papesch, Dave Bruce and Sam Conn, who rarely had the same coloured jerr seys on. Alf and Bill Smith and Jim Sutton the teacher, Puru and Nikora the Maori preacher; Hone Heke (socalled) and his brother Ray Grace, many players appalled with their, bear-like embrace. Their No. 10 feet, their cast-iron heads, that destruction spreads to the indiscreet. Well Joe got married, Conn’got wed, Puru got fatter and Nikora’s dead; Jimmy the teacher got shifted away, so there’s very few left at the present day.

Now the football lads of Waipa may with pride and wisdom dwell, on. the exploits of the players who before them played so well. Hitch your waggon to a star and perchance, you too may go as far as did Cunningham the famous “lock,” who was bred from good old. Waipa stock. Waipa may be proud in producing a. Bispham or a Bowden, a Wilson or McDonald, a Turner or a Carr; a Macky or a Ryburn, and many a good lad from the Pa. But for a lover of Rugby, staunch and true, give me a Smith from Karamu; built like a bull-dog to have and to hold, men like these are more precious than gold. Great forwards and good backs who on their play and in their day were cracks. They came from every calling, every creed and every class, drawn by love for Dame Rugby, that I hope will never pass. From the farm and frcjjT. the factory, from the mill and from the store, all were represented, Churches, medicine and law, Tho’ there are those who would quarrel with our. Spartan old Dame, there’s a great good moral in the good old game. ’Tis a sport for the swift and the sure and'the. strong, without such a nation cannot last long. New Zealand has bred them and fed them well, they're the brawn and the brain of the sort that in work or sport, are born to reign and will excel. (The ; foregoing is the recitation given at the footballers’ concert in Te Awamutu recently by Master Jack,! Grace ,J (son of the writer), and; about whom a correspondent wrote so encouragingly. Mr Grace, in a covering note, writes:. “I was frankly surprised, and, to be quite candid, really gratified to read the expressions of appreciation and advice. I can assure the writer that both John’s mother and myself are anxious that he should develop his talent under the guidance of a-good elocutionist. As to the piece I am only too pleased to submit it for publication.”)