In the morning I asked Nairn how he had slept. He said he hadn’t slept a wink and had worried and sweated all through the night.
Scotland won the match beating France 9-3. We all wore our new boots, which were shown on television, and Nairn played like a man possessed. The three stripes became a marque of the sport and the SRU committee changed forever from the amateur to professional status. It was a benchmark in the annals of Scottish rugby football history and things have never been the same since.
MICHAEL ASPEL
Television broadcaster whose career has included BBC television newscasting, Crackerjack, This Is Your Life and The Antiques Roadshow, among many other credits.
One summer’s day in the early 1980s, I was sitting at a lakeside café in Italy (to be precise, it was Orta San Giulio, later featured annoyingly by Judith Chalmers in her list of great places to visit – thus spoiling it for us regulars).
As I sipped my Prosecco, I noticed a commotion in the water about one hundred yards out. Someone was trying to water-ski, and was failing spectacularly. After many attempts, he finally rose from the water and managed to stay upright for a few seconds. Then one ski flew off at an angle and the other one disappeared; by the laws of gravity the skier should have done the same. But he was so desperate to keep going that he held on to the tow rope and actually ran across the surface of the lake for about six paces.
When I eventually stopped laughing, I decided it was time to resurrect my own watersports career. So that afternoon, I went out with the hotel boat, and although it had been a few years since I’d last been on skis, I got up at once and in a few seconds was flying along. I had told the crew my intention was to do a bit of mono-skiing, so I transferred my weight to the left, slipped off the right ski and really started to move. Halfway across the lake, I came off and hit the water at a tremendous speed.
Now, if you are going to do that, you should try to land face forward or on your back, or even on your elbows – but not on your backside. Not at speed, not into water. A gallon of Lake Orta entered me through orifices I didn’t know I had. Through the pain, words like ‘enema’, ‘douche’ and ‘emasculation’ drifted into my mind. I had visions of sitting down to dinner that night, and streams jetting from my ears.
Luckily, there was no real damage. I just had rather a strange walk for a few days, which my family seemed to find amusing. I don’t think you should laugh at other people’s suffering.
PAM AYRES
Very popular comedienne, poet and television personality who has been a keen member of the Lady Taverners for many years.
HOW CAN THAT BE MY BABY?
How can that be my baby? How can that be my son? Standing on a rugger field, more than six feet one.
Steam is rising from him, his legs are streaked with blood, And he wears a yellow mouthguard in a face that’s black with mud.
How can that be my baby? How can he look like that? I used to sit him on my knee and read him Postman Pat. Those little ears with cotton buds I kept in perfect shape, But now they’re big and purple and fastened back with tape.
How can that be my baby? When did he reach that size? What happened to his wellies with the little froggy eyes? His shirt is on one shoulder but it’s hanging off the other, And the little baffled person at his feet is me: his mother.
TREVOR BAILEY
One of English cricket’s greatest all-rounders, he played for Cambridge University, Essex and England between 1945 and 1967, playing 61 times for England. A true all-rounder, he was also a very accomplished footballer and subsequently a noted sports journalist.
I loved playing cricket and became very involved in every aspect, but once a county match, or a Test match, was over I very quickly forgot the runs, the wickets, the catches, the scores, the players and even the outcome. I just remembered the incidents that appealed to me. For example, I shall always treasure a few moments of magic at Chelmsford, when Essex met Sussex in the early fifties. The visitors had established a substantial lead and a declaration was imminent, when I happened to take a wicket with the fourth ball of my over. This brought Robin Marlar, who had been appointed captain of Sussex that year, to the crease. Before taking guard, Robin summoned his partner, George Cox, to the middle of the pitch for a discussion.
Eventually I was able to deliver my fifth ball, which happened to be straight and sent his middle stump for a walk, while at the same time the two batsmen were about to cross in the middle of the pitch, attempting to take a run to the keeper and give George the strike. The declaration was immediate and we all walked off the field with the entire Essex team in tears of laughter.
Another magic moment occurred in South Africa, when a quarter of an hour before the start of the First Test in Johannesburg in December 1956, Peter May asked me to open the innings with Peter Richardson. I immediately asked my partner if he realised that we were taking on the roles of high-class batsmen in English cricket history, like Hobbs and Sutcliffe, who had both possessed an ability and repertoire of strokes of an entirely different class to what we had to offer. The outcome was that we went out to the middle with Peter as Herbert Sutcliffe and myself as Sir John.
Our shouts of ‘Get back, Sir John,’ and ‘Come one, Herbert’ certainly surprised the opposition as I do not think that frivolity of this kind was quite their scene. However, it worked rather better than either Peter or I expected, as we made a good start and Peter went on to make a solid century.
JOHN BARCLAY
Captain of Sussex from 1981 to 1986, he scored almost 10,000 runs, including 9 centuries, and took 324 wickets with his off-breaks. Subsequently a leading cricket administrator.
Middlesex v Sussex at Hove in 1980 – I toss up with Mike Brearley and win the toss. Walking back to the pavilion to convey this news to the team, I was addressed by a lady at the boundary edge.
‘Mr. Barclay,’ she said. ‘Have you won the toss?’
‘Yes,’ I replied proudly.
‘And are you going to bat?’
‘Yes,’ I said, even more proudly.
‘And are you opening the batting?’
‘Yes,’ I said, puffing out my chest.
‘In that case,’ said the lady, ‘I’ll go into Hove to do my Sainsbury’s shop before lunch.’
EDDIE BARLOW
One of the all-time great South African cricketers, Eddie Barlow played 30 times for his country before South Africa’s exclusion in 1970. He scored 2,516 runs at an average of 45.74, and took 40 wickets. He subsequently played for Derbyshire with distinction.
When I began my cricketing career, it started, like most boys, in my parents’ back garden. My brother Norman and I were limited by space and had to share our ground with Dad’s vegetable garden. He was very proud of his achievements and had grown some wonderful cauliflowers. Unfortunately they were right in the firing line of Norman’s cover drives and sure enough one of these knocked a top completely off, quickly followed by another one. With great presence of mind we sat the tops back on their stalks and carried on playing. A few days later we spotted Dad inspecting his handiwork, seeing his face turn from pleasure to anger. Now we were going to catch it. As he came inside we heard him say to Mum, ‘Those wretched cutworms have ruined my caulies.’