Following the Flag to Twickers

Crowds arriving at Twickenham

‘You do not have to worry about finding the ground in time, mate.  Just follow the crowd.’  So said the man at the Wimbledon ticket office when I enquired how I would find my way from Twickenham railway station to the stadium.

In retrospect, it was a really stupid question even for someone who was clearly a rookie Saffer miles   away from home.  When I alighted from the train, I found myself immediately swept along in a swarming crowd of white-shirted people.  Dotted here and there were the familiar green and gold jerseys and every now and again, we would catch one another’s eye and give a nod of recognition. Although it was a very mild day, I felt the need to put on my jacket as a cold breeze enveloped us, reminding everyone that it was officially winter in the UK.

I had hardly put on my jacket – a Wynberg branded one – when I heard a shout from across the street.  ‘Hey, Wynberg!’  A young man with a broad grin came over to me holding out his hand. ‘SACS!’  he said with pride.  I commiserated with him before discussing the chances of a Springbok victory in the match ahead.

Walkway at Twickenham

Grant Esterhuizen, organiser-in-chief of the London reunion dinner, had invited Ricky Farrant and me to the test match between England and South Africa at Twickenham.  We had been instructed to meet outside the Marriot Hotel entrance.  As predicted by the railway official at Wimbledon, I arrived well ahead of our meeting time and certainly experienced no trouble in finding our rendezvous point.  As I had time to kill, I wandered round the stadium admiring the statues and especially the walkway with its famous names etched in stone.  I spent some time reading the names which made me even more determined to ensure that a Walkway of Wynberg names comes to fruition in the 175th year of the school.  We aim to build it from the Memorial Gates above the bank of Hawthornden field around to the nets and will invite families to immortalise the names of generations from their family who have attended the school.

Walkway of Wynberg Names - artist's impression

In due course, Grant and his entourage arrived. Ricky was once again regaling the group about what my dog had allegedly done to his veldskoene all those years before, when he expressed an urgent need to quench his thirst. This, naturally enough, met with a chorus of approval.   We presented our tickets at the gate and made a beeline for one of the many beer stands dotted around the stadium.  When I saw that the beers were six pounds each, I immediately lost my thirst.  No matter how parched one was feeling, forking out a R100 for a beer would undoubtedly cause a vast amount of internal damage to the stomach linings.

No sooner had we finished the beers and I was wondering how I was going to reciprocate the round, when Grant (fortunately) announced that it was time to go up to the hospitality area.  The lift in that part of the stand was not working so we had to walk up what seemed like twenty floors – which resulted in Ricky Farrant’s thirst returning with a vengeance.  The hospitality suite had clearly anticipated this and we found tables groaning with food and drink.

No sooner had we started tucking in, than Grant announced that we had to go to the Lion Gate and have photos taken with the flag.  Luckily the lift was now working and we found ourselves sharing the space with Springbok, Francois Louw.  We gave the nod of South African recognition when he suddenly spotted the badge on my jacket.

‘Ah, Wynberg,’ he said.  ‘I was there for Grades One and Two.’  Before I could utter the usual chirp which I give in these circumstances:  ‘Well, imagine how good you could really have become if you had gone all the way through to matric!’, Grant jumped in and demanded a photograph.

Wynberg Links: chance meeting with Francois Louw

So another historic photo has been added to the journal of the 175 iteration of the Flag around the world.

At the Lion Gate

We found throngs of people around the Lion Gate as the arrival of the teams was expected.  ‘How will folk know we are here?’ I asked Grant.

‘Wave the flag,’ he suggested – and so I did.  The immediate response was the emergence of Brandon van der Westhuizen out of the crowd.  So the next historic photo was added to the journal.

We hung around for a while but we were never going to find anyone in that crowd and Ricky was making constant reminders that his thirst was returning. So back up to our hospitality area we went.

Half an hour before game, we went to our seats in order to enjoy the atmosphere of a stadium of 82 000 spectators.  It was right up there with two other great spectator experiences of my life – being at the stadium to watch the archer shoot the flaming arrow to light the Olympic flame at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics and the second was being part of the Welsh singing ‘Bread of Heaven’ and ‘Land of our Fathers’ at the opening of the Millennium Stadium before the Springbok match in 1999.

Until last Saturday, that match was an historic occasion in that it was the only time the Welsh had ever beaten South Africa in a rugby test match. Although it was only on television that I was experiencing the second Welsh victory on Saturday, I noted that the singing of the crowd was just as emotional and uplifting.

A packed and noisy Twickenham is hard to beat as a spectacle and sporting experience.  The announcer set the tone when he announced as South Africa ran on:  ‘Let’s welcome our friends from South Africa… The S-P-R-I-N-G-B-O-K-S!’

The crowd cheered politely. I couldn’t help wondering what the Newlands crowd would have done if the announcer had welcomed our friends from Pretoria so warmly - the B-u-l-l-s?  I was so struck by this, that I bought a scarf when I left the ground which was half Springbok and half English and had the date of the match on it. What chance is there of a half WP and half Bulls scarf being a commercial success at Newlands?  If any good can come out of the Phillip Hughes’ recent unfortunate death in a cricket match, it can be to remind us that sport is not war – and is just that, sport.   I thought the announcer at Twickenham had it right that day.

At anthem time, we sang Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika lustily.  ‘Not a bad effort,’ I remarked proudly to Grant when we had finished.  ‘Wait for this…,’ he said presciently.

I have never heard anything like it.  The Queen would have considered herself well and truly saved if she had heard the enthusiasm with which that Twickenham crowd belted out their national anthem.  It was a spine-chilling experience, evoking goose bumps. ‘That nearly turned me into a Pom,’ I announced to all and sundry around me at the conclusion of the singing.

Not quite – but it was a near run thing.

It was drizzling when the match started which resulted in a spectacular rainbow over the stadium.  ‘Well, that’s it then,’ said a spectator near me in his white jersey . ‘What an omen to start the game – a rainbow for the Rainbow Nation…’

This gloomy home town prediction was in the balance right up to the final whistle – by which stage the clouds had gone and it was a perfect evening – both from a weather and a result point of view.

Back in the office, with a depressed Ben Thompson (Wynberg's Director of Academics, our 'Englishman in the Cape')

I take away many many memories from my day at Twickenham – but there was one which I wish the Newlands crowd would adopt.  When Pat Lambie stepped up to take the first penalty, a notice flashed up on the screen:  ‘Respect the Kicker’ and the stadium went dead quiet.  Now THAT is how sport should be played!

I was due to fly back the following evening but spent the morning at the Tower of London admiring the ceramic poppies.  It was a moving experience knowing that every one of those 800 000+ poppies represented a young life snuffed out in its prime.  Every day, at sunset, during the time which the poppies were still in position, 150 names were read out - followed by the Last Post.  Relatives of those 150 names were invited to be part of the proceedings.  A moving and worthy tribute.

Twenty four hours later, after an uneventful flight, I was walking across the fields to my office.  The school was in exam mode but a few boys were playing a game of soccer.  I greeted them – but in the intensity of the game, they hardly noticed.

‘So did you lot behave while I was away?’ I said to them.

Only one boy paused momentarily.  ‘Oh, have you been away, Sir?’ he said before tearing off to take the pass.

Welcome Home.