First published in Great Britain in 2003 by
CollinsWillow
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Copyright © Phil Bennett 2003, 2004
Phil Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN 9780007162550
Ebook Edition © JULY 2015 ISBN: 9780008161217
Version: 2015-08-04
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To my wife, Pat, and my sons, Steven and James.
Contents
4 Guided by the Great Redeemer
5 Brown Envelopes, Whites Lies
Phil and Graham would like to thank the following people for their help, support and encouragement along the way:
John Williams and Felinfoel Primary School staff, Mervyn Bowen and Coleshill Secondary Modern School staff, Llanelli Schoolboys coaches and teachers, Felinfoel RFC, Felinfoel Cricket Club, Llanelli RFC players, coaches, committee members and supporters, and everyone else who helped me live the dream of beating the All Blacks: Bob and Mary Bennett, Les and Myrtle Jones, Pat, James and Steven, Terry and Mary Jones, Wendy and Keith John, Tracey and Leigh Francis, Oliver Bennett, Thomas John and Esther Guy, John, Carol and Dave Lloyd, Huw and Carol Owen, Wynford and Pat Thomas, Maldwyn Griffith, Malcolm Hamer, Ian Jones and staff at the recreation and sports department of Carmarthenshire County Council, Leon and Vanessa Lyons, Veris and Geoff ‘The Barber’ Sherlock, Nigel Walker and everyone at BBC Wales, the sports desk staff of The Sunday Mirror, David Evans and staff at the South Wales Evening Post, Tarda Davison-Aitkins and all at HarperCollins, Nick Fawcett, Stuart Farmer, Huw Evans, Margaret Haggerty, Catherine Thomas, Ted, Martha and Isabelle Thomas, Dewi and Shirley Thomas.
There were no tears, no long, lingering, last looks back down the tunnel. There were no laps of honour, not even a trophy. Neither were there any emotional farewell speeches in the dressing room. I paused for a moment as I walked towards the dressing-room door, but that was just to catch my breath. I was exhausted. But I was also the happiest and most relieved I had ever felt in a Welsh jersey. We had beaten France and I had led my country to a Grand Slam.
I’d run off the field. Not because it was my last game for Wales, but because I always ran off the field when I was captain to make sure I could shake hands with the opposition skipper. The noise was deafening. There were supporters running everywhere with wild faces, trying to grab players as they made their way to the dressing rooms. I found Jean-Pierre