This Is The Song I Sing “Hundreds of rugby enthusiasts wave for the photographer as they waited in Cricket Avenue, outside Eden Park at 10.15 this morning. More than 60,000 people crammed into the ground to see the first test between New Zealand and France. (Wirephoto.)” This is the song I sing. This is the song of my people. The song of my country. This photo in a newspaper of a crowd at a rugby match. Hundreds of faces en masse. Brown and white interspersed. Unconcerned, unrestrained, natural. A smiling, joyous, lusty, vigorous crowd. Crammed in upon one another. Touching shoulders, linking arms. Arms thrown about each other's shoulders. The fusion unnoticed, accepted without query. This is the song I sing. Two peoples in close proximity. Brought together by their love of one thing. Their paths heading in the same direction. Something there is rich in this photograph. Something rich and beautiful. Something that would be lacking without one or the other race. Without the dependency of each upon the other. Rowley Habib