Rugby Spirit

by Gerard Siggins

  ‘I bought them in the sales – New Year’s Day 1928 I believe. My brothers gave me a pound each for Christmas …’

  ‘1928?’ quizzed Eoin, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was a few months before the accident … Yes, March 1928 that was,’ Brian confirmed.

  Eoin was rooted in his seat.

  ‘B-b-but that was more than eighty years ago … how old are you?’ he said, quietly.

  ‘I’m twenty-two, of course,’ said Brian, ‘the same age as I was when I died.’

  CHAPTER 20

  Eoin’s eyes widened. ‘You’re dead? Are you a ghost?’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ said Brian, ‘But I never really thought about it. I’ve just hung around here since it happened …’

  ‘Since what happened,’ asked Eoin, whose knuckles had turned white as he clung to the plastic seat.

  ‘I should have told you before this,’ Brian nodded. ‘But I didn’t want to frighten you off. Let’s go up the back of the stand here, there’s a great view of the whole stadium.’

  Eoin’s mind was a whirl; on one hand he wanted to run away screaming, but his in-built curiosity was kicking in.

  Brian sat down at the very back of the stand, and pointed to the near touchline.

  ‘It was just about there,’ he said, ‘about five yards in. ‘I came here after I left school, my old school pal Ned brought me along. We had great sport on the second team, and won the Metro the year before. But Lansdowne had a fantastic team, and the best set of backs of any club in the world. We had Ernie Crawford, Jack Arigho … legends,’ he said. ‘We were playing Trinity. It was a big game, my first cup match for the first team.’

  Eoin had many questions, but didn’t say a word.

  ‘It was a cold day, and the ground was hard. We gave as good as we got for the first ten minutes or so. And then …’

  Brian looked Eoin in the eye, then dropped his head.

  ‘And then there was a scrum. Now in those days the scrum was a rough-house. It was a tough place, and you had to show you were top dog. There was none of this “touch, pause, engage” lark. The packs would just run at each other, charging like a pair of goats butting heads.’

  Eoin stared, finding it hard to imagine the scene.

  ‘Well, the trouble with that was that you had to collide precisely, so your heads would interlock and the scrum could form. That day we didn’t meet quite right, and somebody slipped and the scrum collapsed. Whatever way it fell I was caught …’

  ‘And it killed you?’ asked Eoin, gently.

  ‘No, not quite,’ explained Brian. ‘When they all stood up I was still on the ground and couldn’t move. I told the referee, Mr Bell, that I had no power in my body. They got the stretchers on and I was carried over to the touchline. There was a lot of fuss and then a motor ambulance arrived and took me to hospital. I saw a doctor who told me I was very badly hurt, and that the nurses would make me comfortable. To be honest, I wasn’t in any pain, and the shock of it all meant I didn’t really take it in. My mother and father were already deceased, and all I had in the world were my two brothers, Charlie and Edgar. Charlie was on the Irish team at that stage, he was a great player. I asked the nurses could they contact the lads, and they said they were already on the way. The two lived down in Athlone and Cork, but I really wanted to see them and was glad to hear they were coming.

  ‘A few of the team came in to see me after the game, and I was delighted to hear we had won 13-0. We chatted about the scrum, but I insisted that nobody was to blame and that it was just one of those things.

  ‘Eddie and Charlie arrived during the evening, but I was very tired by then and I didn’t really want to talk. They sat by the bed all night, but by morning time I wasn’t able to open my eyes anymore and I slipped away.

  ‘It’s a strange thing, dying. One minute I was lying in bed, and then I was floating above looking down at everyone. The lads were very sad – I was their baby brother – but I didn’t really understand what was going on.’

  Eoin stared at his feet, not knowing what to say.

  ‘I was upset after a while, when I realised that I wouldn’t play rugby again, or go to the silent pictures with my pals. I watched the funeral, and hung around afterwards in the graveyard. But the next morning I woke up here in the Lansdowne dressing room, and I’ve been here ever since.’

  ‘And what have you been doing for the past eighty years?’ asked Eoin.

  ‘Well, I’ve had a front-row seat for every single match that has been played here since my last game. I even jumped over onto the touchline for a few of the more exciting ones. I saw some fantastic players here over the years, you know.’

  ‘And did you ever talk to anyone?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Well, that’s the queerest thing,’ Brian replied, ‘Nobody ever saw me until you walked into the first aid room a few months back. That gave me quite a shock. I’ve really enjoyed our chats, and they’ve given me a new lease of, eh, life,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll give you a hand if you’re playing in that final too,’ he said. ‘Maybe I could trip up the opposition, or lob another ball into the scrum to confuse them!’

  ‘That might just confuse our lads too,’ Eoin laughed.

  The schoolboy paused, not sure what to say next.

  ‘Eh, Brian,’ he hesitated, ‘Did you ever see a player called Dixie Madden play for Castlerock?’

  Brian’s grey eyes widened. ‘I did, and a brilliant player he was too. Why do you ask?’

  ‘He’s my grandad,’ Eoin explained.

  ‘Ah, of course, he was a Tipperary man, I should have guessed. I saw him play many big schools’ games here, and I never saw a better out-half for his age. He was brilliant. And then one day I came out to watch the Old Castlerock team and he wasn’t there, and I never saw him again. I often wonder what happened to him ….’

  ‘Me too,’ said Eoin, ‘And I’m going to find out.’

  CHAPTER 21

  Eoin was still in a blur when he found his way back to the school, just in time to hear the bell for end of classes.

  ‘What kept you?’ quizzed Alan. ‘That was some long X-Ray.’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ said Eoin. ‘I was hours in that hospital. Bored stupid I was.’

  ‘Stupid is the word,’ sneered Richie Duffy, as he barged past the pair of friends. ‘The man who missed the cup final because of a cracked rib. Lo-ser.’

  Eoin held himself back, but couldn’t control his tongue.

  ‘You know you’ve no chance without me, Duffy. Your sister could cut open the St Osgur’s defence better than you can. You better say your prayers that I’m ready.’

  Duffy stared at him, but his own tongue wasn’t as quick as Eoin’s and he opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.

  At that moment Mr Finn arrived, and gave Eoin a quizzical look.

  ‘Is everything all right, gentlemen?’ he snapped.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Eoin and Richie chorused.

  ‘Move along then, Mr Duffy, you must have training to go to,’ he said, directing him towards the playing fields.

  When Duffy had left, Mr Finn turned to Eoin. ‘Be careful with that boy, Eoin, he is prone to hiding his inarticulacy behind his fists.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I understand,’ Eoin replied.

  ‘How is Dixie? I wrote to him, but haven’t received a reply.’

  ‘He’s a bit better I think. He said he’d come up for the final if I was on the team….’

  ‘And what are the chances of that?’

  ‘Well, according to the doctor I shouldn’t be playing …’ he sighed.

  And then he thought of something.

  ‘What’s comfrey, sir, and where could I get some?’

  ‘Gosh that’s a word I haven’t heard in years,’ said Mr Finn, ‘Where on earth did you hear about that?’

  ‘A … eh … an … old man told me it would help to heal my ribs,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, yes, we used it all the time on injuries when I was young,’ the teac
her said. ‘It grew in ditches and along the canal banks. There may even be some down by the stream at the back of the school … I tell you what, I’ll take a walk down there this evening and if I find any I’ll let you know. Sure it’s worth trying – it sounds like it could be your only chance.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Finn,’ Eoin replied, suddenly cheered up.

  Hours later, Eoin was lying on his bed trying to read a comic book, but his mind kept returning to Brian and his extraordinary, if sad, story. He had always believed in ghosts, and Grandad Madden was full of great stories about the fairies, banshees and pookas that lived in the woods they passed on their walks. But it was still a bit weird to meet and talk to one, especially one as friendly as Brian.

  A knock came to the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Alan shouted, and then apologised for being so loud when Mr Finn walked in.

  ‘Eoin, come with me,’ he said.

  Eoin jumped up from his bed, puzzled at the teacher’s strange manner.

  Outside the door, Mr Finn carefully closed the door behind him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eoin, I’ve just had a call from your father. Dixie has taken a turn and won’t be able to make the match next week.

  ‘In fact, he is quite ill. Your dad asked me could he come tomorrow to take you home, but I refused to let him drive all the way up. I’ll drive you down in the morning. I would so like to see Dixie again.’

  Eoin gulped and fought back tears. ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll see you after breakfast.’

  He tried hard to sleep that night, but found it impossible. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his grandad lying in the hospital bed. He tossed over in his mind the recent conversations and how much he wanted to talk rugby with the great Dixie Madden.

  Next morning, Mr Finn was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

  ‘I thought we’d make an early start, Eoin. We can get breakfast on the way.’

  Eoin was relieved that he didn’t have to face the rest of the school, particularly with Duffy gunning for him.

  On the way they talked of rugby, and history, and living in Dublin. Mr Finn steered clear of school affairs, and of Grandad Madden’s mysterious past. He was a careful driver, and with the stop for breakfast it took almost three hours to reach Ormondstown.

  Dixie was being cared for in the small local hospital, and Eoin directed Mr Finn through its gates in time to see his father coming out the main door.

  ‘He’s sleeping now, thank God,’ Mr Madden said, ‘He’s had a bad night though. Kept asking when you’d be down.’

  He turned to the teacher.

  ‘Thank you very much, Mr Finn, for bringing Eoin down. I told dad that you were driving down this morning and he said he’d like to see you too. It really perked him up. Come on back to the house and have a cup of tea. We can come here again in an hour.’

  The trio drove back to the Maddens’ house, where Eoin’s mother embraced her son at the door.

  ‘You poor lad …’ she said, before remembering his injured ribcage and jumping backwards, ‘… oh, I hope I haven’t made them any worse!’

  Eoin grinned. ‘No, Mam, I’m almost right. I was at the hospital yesterday and the doctor told me to wait another two to four weeks. The final is in nine days so I’m hoping for a miracle …’

  ‘Oh, silly me, I almost forgot,’ said Mr Finn, taking a plastic bag from his pocket. ‘I found a whole clump of comfrey down by the stream last night. It’s not in flower yet, but the leaves are what do you good.’

  ‘My mother used to swear by comfrey, “knitbone” she used to call it,’ Mrs Madden said, ‘I think you chop it up and make a poultice, don’t you?’

  While Mr Finn was overseeing the herbal recipe in the kitchen, Mr Madden took his son outside.

  ‘Dixie has been talking of nothing else but this match for weeks now. I couldn’t bear to tell him that your injury might keep you out. He told me he wants to tell you the whole story too. Last night, when he was bad, he told me that I was to explain it all to you if he didn’t make it. God willing he’ll have his health soon and be able to tell you the whole story. But don’t push him in the hospital, he’s very weak.’

  ‘Ah Dad, I wouldn’t do that,’ said Eoin, ‘if he wants to tell me he’ll do it in his own good time. I always knew that.’

  Inside, Mrs Madden pointed to a blob of green mush sitting on a saucer when Eoin and his father returned.

  ‘There you are, Eoin, that’s your lunch.’

  Eoin’s face turned just as green, but when he saw Mr Finn and his parents breaking into a grin he realised he had been fooled.

  ‘No, you loo-lah,’ his mother said, ‘It’s a poultice; I’ll wrap it in a piece of linen and strap it to your ribs.’

  ‘Won’t it ooze out onto my shirt,’ Eoin complained as his mother rigged up the herbal remedy.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ his mother explained, ‘and even if you do can’t you just say you’re a true Irishman with green blood.’

  CHAPTER 22

  The Maddens, with Mr Finn following behind, pulled into the car park of Ormondstown General Hospital shortly before 1pm. The sun had just emerged from behind a grey cloud and Eoin forced a smile onto his face, realising it was important not to look upset or worried in front of his grandad.

  The old man was surrounded by pipes and wires when Eoin and his dad entered the ward. Dixie seemed to be asleep, but perhaps sensing the arrival of his only son – and only grandson – he slowly opened his eyes.

  ‘Ah Eoin, how wonderful it is that you could come. And Andy Finn drove you all the way? What a great chum he is.’

  ‘Mr Finn is outside, Dad,’ Kevin told him, ‘He wanted to let me in first. He’s dying to see you too.’

  ‘Dying to see me? I hope not,’ the old man chuckled. ‘There’s enough of us dying around here.’

  ‘Now, Dad, enough of that talk,’ Kevin said. ‘The doctor says you’re good for another twenty years – four Rugby World Cups anyway. You might even get another Grand Slam out of it.’

  ‘Grand Slam?’ the old man snorted, ‘Get out of that. Not a chance. You’ll be lucky to see another one of them,’ he directed at Eoin.

  ‘Great to see you back to normal, Grandad!’ laughed Eoin, ‘There’s nothing wrong with your spirit anyway!’

  ‘Indeed, young man. That sleep gave me a great boost. Sit down there beside the bed and we’ll have that chat.’

  ‘Hang on, Dad, are you sure you’re strong enough?’ interrupted Kevin.

  ‘I am, so go off and get yourself and Andy a cup of tea, and leave me with the boy. I have a lot to get through with this young man.’

  Dixie and Eoin Madden looked into each other’s eyes. The old man saw a bright, independent spirit, eager to learn. The boy saw a sadness, but behind it lay a light that was fighting hard to stay lit, because it realised it had so much shining still to do.

  ‘I hated rugby,’ Dixie said, ‘hated it with a vicious, powerful, hurtful hatred. And it was stupid, I now know, because it wasn’t rugby that took her away ….’

  Eoin sat silently by the bed. His eye kept being dragged away by the digital readouts on the machines monitoring Dixie’s health.

  ‘It was the winter of nineteen sixty-eight, sixty-nine. We were living in Dublin at the time, I was working for the bank in Rathmines and playing my rugby up with Old Castlerock. Kevin – your dad – had been born the summer before, but there were ferocious snows all winter long and we hardly got a chance to take him out for fresh air. The rugby was going well, very well really … and I was lucky enough to be picked for the final Irish trial up in Lansdowne Road. The Saturday before was a rare sunny day and we had a game at home against the university. It really was a lovely day ….’

  The old man paused, and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘There were two Irish selectors there to watch, and the lads kept ribbing me that I would be getting a new green jersey, and Irene had better not wash it with the nappies. All harmless teasing, I suppose … Anyway, the game was goi
ng well, and we were well on top. Just after the second half started a shocking wind got up, and started playing havoc with the kicking.

  ‘I noticed at half-time that your grandmother, Irene, had arrived, and she gave me a little wave. Kevin was in the pram, an enormous black thing with a bouncy suspension. A lot of the other wives and girlfriends were around her, goo-gooing at the baby.

  ‘I was concentrating on the game, up the other end of the pitch, when I heard this unmerciful crack. It was like a bomb going off. The game stopped, everyone turned and saw that a huge branch had broken off near the top of an old willow tree that stood beside the rugby pitch.

  ‘It teetered for a couple of seconds, before down it tumbled. It was just as it started to fall that I saw that it was Irene who was standing underneath the tree, talking to another woman. As the branch crashed down through the tall tree I saw that she realised the danger and pushed the pram away. She only had a second or two, but she clearly decided that she had to save little Kevin …’

  Dixie paused, looking out the window for a moment, before resuming his story.

  ‘And then the branch fell down, right on top of her.’

  ‘I sprinted those sixty yards faster than anyone ever has, but there wasn’t even a breath left in her when I got there. She had been killed stone dead.

  ‘Somebody called an ambulance, but she was already gone. I held her in my arms for a few minutes, but then I heard Kevin crying and knew I had to go to him. It was a terrible day, terrible …’

  Eoin reached across and put his hand across the back of Dixie’s. He felt awful that the old man had dragged up such painful memories for him. And that he had never really thought about why he only had one grandmother.

  His grandfather looked him in the eyes again.

  ‘And that was the last time I ever wore rugby kit, or even kicked a ball,’ he said. ‘I blamed myself at first, because Irene would never have been near that field that day had I not been playing. People talked me out of that notion, but I just hated the idea that she had lost her life, and we had lost all our dreams of a life together, over something as stupid as a game of rugby football.’