Monday, December 31, 2012
A Rugby Man (2)
This image shows my father in a team photograph; they are standing in front of the (rugby) posts but the ball being held by the player sitting in the middle of the front row seems to be a football (never my father's game). It is either from his time in the Army or from just after the war when he played for Chester. He is at the end of the back row on the right.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Etajima Island Japan 1946
My father's journey from Tokyo and then to Hiroshima was not a coincidence. It was always the intention that D Company of the Second Battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, in which he was a Major, would find itself on Etajima Island. The Imperial Japanese Naval Academy, which was founded in Tokyo in 1876, moved to the island of Etajima in the Inland Sea near the coast of Hiroshima City in 1888.
The Allied Forces closed the school in 1945 but it had played a significant role in the war as one of the Japanese Navy's most important bases and a centre of their operations. More than one ship had been scuttled in the harbour by the end of the war but, of greater significance to the allies, were the massive stores of explosives in the form of shells and other munitions.
When D company arrived they were billeted in the naval college. The picture below has "Main Entrance Etajima Barracks" written on the back:
My father was told that his first job would be to: “clear that the explosives fromthe island
in one week”. He told me that the island was "virtually hollow". A network of underground caves formed a honeycomb under the
island; indeed there were at least 28 separate caves each with its own jetty on the
shoreline from which the warships would have been supplied with munitions.
My father told me that when he stepped onto the island the tunnels were full of 23,000 tonnes of weeping explosives, torpedoes and other armaments. Its removal would be a highly dangerous task as much of it was unstable and "could go up any minute". However, when he asked for volunteers his entire company stepped forward. "They were as tough as they were brave" he said.
The caves were serviced by an electric railway which was recommissioned in order to get the explosives out. I got the impression from him that the little trains were actually quite a lot of fun once they got them working. A lot of his men had some experience of working underground (in the coal mines back home) and took to the task with ease. They used the trains to take the explosives, bombs and other armaments out to the jetties where they were loaded into barges. The barges were towed 10 to 15 miles out to sea where they were used by theNew Zealand
The job was duly completed within the week but not without incident. There is a story about a group of Americans; believing that some of the caves held valuable items like binoculars, they had been trying to burn open one of the steel reinforced doors which provided the above ground entrance to the caves with a blowtorch. As soon as the door was breached the flame ignited the weeping explosives causing a huge explosion. My father recalls that, at that moment, he had been having breakfast with his commanding officer, Appreece-Jones “when the whole thing went up”. “What the hell was that" said the boss...
The Allied Forces closed the school in 1945 but it had played a significant role in the war as one of the Japanese Navy's most important bases and a centre of their operations. More than one ship had been scuttled in the harbour by the end of the war but, of greater significance to the allies, were the massive stores of explosives in the form of shells and other munitions.
When D company arrived they were billeted in the naval college. The picture below has "Main Entrance Etajima Barracks" written on the back:
My father was told that his first job would be to: “clear that the explosives from
My father told me that when he stepped onto the island the tunnels were full of 23,000 tonnes of weeping explosives, torpedoes and other armaments. Its removal would be a highly dangerous task as much of it was unstable and "could go up any minute". However, when he asked for volunteers his entire company stepped forward. "They were as tough as they were brave" he said.
The caves were serviced by an electric railway which was recommissioned in order to get the explosives out. I got the impression from him that the little trains were actually quite a lot of fun once they got them working. A lot of his men had some experience of working underground (in the coal mines back home) and took to the task with ease. They used the trains to take the explosives, bombs and other armaments out to the jetties where they were loaded into barges. The barges were towed 10 to 15 miles out to sea where they were used by the
The job was duly completed within the week but not without incident. There is a story about a group of Americans; believing that some of the caves held valuable items like binoculars, they had been trying to burn open one of the steel reinforced doors which provided the above ground entrance to the caves with a blowtorch. As soon as the door was breached the flame ignited the weeping explosives causing a huge explosion. My father recalls that, at that moment, he had been having breakfast with his commanding officer, Appreece-Jones “when the whole thing went up”. “What the hell was that" said the boss...
Another classic tale involves a scuttled Japanese battleship that was lying
in the bay. He and his men decided to swim out to it (presumably unaware or unconcerned about the sharks). They went about exploring the ship and in due course they found a huge and very beautiful hardwood table bolted to the floor of the map room. After a brief discussion they decided to remove it; they unbolted it, took it apart and floated it back to the island where they reassembled it in the commanding officer's centre of operations. Everybody was happy until the
(ranking) American commander saw the table during a visit and instructed that
it should be brought to his headquarters.
Now nobody was happy including Appreece-Jones. After a conference they reluctantly decided that the Americans could have the table; with one small caveat. The table was then duly returned to the battleship and reassembled, piece by piece and in its entirety, back in the map room. A message was then sent to the Americans that the table was waiting (in the battleship) for them to collect at their convenience!
After the caves had been cleared there was another job to do. There were many Koreans in Japan at the end of the War. The majority had been taken as slave labour and, indeed, a significant number of the casualties at Hiroshima has been Koreans. There is a Korean shrine at the peace park in Hiroshima city. It is beautiful, poignant and sad. Like the rest. This was something that I knew little or nothing about until I visited the site.
Now nobody was happy including Appreece-Jones. After a conference they reluctantly decided that the Americans could have the table; with one small caveat. The table was then duly returned to the battleship and reassembled, piece by piece and in its entirety, back in the map room. A message was then sent to the Americans that the table was waiting (in the battleship) for them to collect at their convenience!
After the caves had been cleared there was another job to do. There were many Koreans in Japan at the end of the War. The majority had been taken as slave labour and, indeed, a significant number of the casualties at Hiroshima has been Koreans. There is a Korean shrine at the peace park in Hiroshima city. It is beautiful, poignant and sad. Like the rest. This was something that I knew little or nothing about until I visited the site.
There had been a number of Koreans on Etajima. At the surrender they had been angry and wanted to "even the score"; they picked up guns and other weapons and, as described by my father, had started "raiding all over the island". He was told by his commanding officer that he had to solve the problem and pacify them so that they could be repatriated. He had command of a company of battle hardened troops and, when he asked "Do I go in hard" Appreece-Jones had said, simply, "Yes".
They armed jeeps with machine guns and began to patrol the island and round up the stragglers when and where they found them. He told of a chase along a river as a Korean and his men tried to to outrun them on a boat. They were in the jeeps and kept firing across the bows of the boat until it hove to and they were able to capture them.
He had been assigned a female Japanese interpreter (I got the distinct impression that they became firm friends). She said that he should ask the leader to take off his shirt, which he did. It revealed the tattoo of a dragon that wound its way across his torso and down to one of his calves. She said "Yakuza" a Japanese word that (simplistically) means gangster.
They finally tracked down the last of the Koreans to the mountains in the middle of the island. They were in two groups but to find them they would have to march on foot. When he described the situation I could tell that he had revelled in the challenge. "You've got to remember that we had been through the War to the end. We were the toughest troops you could imagine and we wouldn't take any nonsense. We were willing to take on anything or anybody. When we started the march up into the hills it had been raining hard for days. The mountain road we were walking up was like a stream.
"Eventually we came over a rise and there we saw a large clearing with a village. The village headman came out to meet us" here my father paused. "I had never seen anybody so terrified" were his exact words; "because the Yanks had been in before and had given them a pretty rough time". He speculated at this point in the story. His shared his feelings from his perspective at that moment: "Thank God. I don't want to see this in my country" were his thoughts. However, it soon became clear to him that there was another reason for the man's terror; the Koreans were in the village.
My father said that it was at this point that he bought his 'Japanese bear'. He bought if from the head man "to placate him" and calm him down, in doing so to show him that he had good intentions. The 'Hokkaido Bear' is a Japanese icon - a carved wooden bear with a fish in its mouth. This bear is more rough hewn with a similar basic stance, but with no fish. It was chewed by my parent's boxer dog Skipper when my parents lived in in Africa, but is still a magnificent carving and something I have always loved.
The Koreans were persuaded to give themselves up; by all accounts my father's men were pretty heavily armed and "looked like they meant business". They were marched back down the mountain and were eventually repatriated. He too went home and refused a full time commission in the army.
My father's commanding officer, Appreece-Jones, received a CBE for the successful completion of the removal of the munitions from Etajima; he sent a letter of thanks to my father who also received a mention in dispatches. Later this mention, which was kept on his civil service file, was a contributing factor towards his receiving an OBE during his career inAfrica 15 years later. At about the
same time that he received his OBE they received a visit from Apreece-Jones in
Malawi
They armed jeeps with machine guns and began to patrol the island and round up the stragglers when and where they found them. He told of a chase along a river as a Korean and his men tried to to outrun them on a boat. They were in the jeeps and kept firing across the bows of the boat until it hove to and they were able to capture them.
He had been assigned a female Japanese interpreter (I got the distinct impression that they became firm friends). She said that he should ask the leader to take off his shirt, which he did. It revealed the tattoo of a dragon that wound its way across his torso and down to one of his calves. She said "Yakuza" a Japanese word that (simplistically) means gangster.
They finally tracked down the last of the Koreans to the mountains in the middle of the island. They were in two groups but to find them they would have to march on foot. When he described the situation I could tell that he had revelled in the challenge. "You've got to remember that we had been through the War to the end. We were the toughest troops you could imagine and we wouldn't take any nonsense. We were willing to take on anything or anybody. When we started the march up into the hills it had been raining hard for days. The mountain road we were walking up was like a stream.
"Eventually we came over a rise and there we saw a large clearing with a village. The village headman came out to meet us" here my father paused. "I had never seen anybody so terrified" were his exact words; "because the Yanks had been in before and had given them a pretty rough time". He speculated at this point in the story. His shared his feelings from his perspective at that moment: "Thank God. I don't want to see this in my country" were his thoughts. However, it soon became clear to him that there was another reason for the man's terror; the Koreans were in the village.
My father said that it was at this point that he bought his 'Japanese bear'. He bought if from the head man "to placate him" and calm him down, in doing so to show him that he had good intentions. The 'Hokkaido Bear' is a Japanese icon - a carved wooden bear with a fish in its mouth. This bear is more rough hewn with a similar basic stance, but with no fish. It was chewed by my parent's boxer dog Skipper when my parents lived in in Africa, but is still a magnificent carving and something I have always loved.
The Koreans were persuaded to give themselves up; by all accounts my father's men were pretty heavily armed and "looked like they meant business". They were marched back down the mountain and were eventually repatriated. He too went home and refused a full time commission in the army.
My father's commanding officer, Appreece-Jones, received a CBE for the successful completion of the removal of the munitions from Etajima; he sent a letter of thanks to my father who also received a mention in dispatches. Later this mention, which was kept on his civil service file, was a contributing factor towards his receiving an OBE during his career in
The base at Etajima was reopened in 1956. It now serves as the location for the First Service School and Officer Candidate School of the Japan Maritime Self-Defence Force and is the home of the Japanese naval museum.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Miyajima Island Images 1946
While
officially named 'Itsukushima' after its famous Shinto shrine and the even more
famous torii gate that stands in the estuary mouth in front of the shrine
(ranked as one of Japan's three best views), the small island that lies just
off the coastline in Hiroshima Bay is more commonly referred to as Miyajima
Island (which actually means "shrine island").
For my father it was known as "Paradise Island" and, although we discussed it after I returned from my visit there in 2011, by that time his recollections of it were only faint.
However, the picture above shows the beautiful little box (5-6 cm across) that my father brought back from Japan. It was only after he died that I studied it properly and realised that it depicted scenes from Miyajima Island. On the lid are carved the torii, the Senjokaku hall or pavillion, the shrine itself (the buildings on stilts to the left of the torii) and the five-storey pagoda that appear in the pictures below; which were taken by my father in 1946 and by me when I visited the Island in 2011.
On the back of this photograph he has written: "Paradise Island the Gates of Paradise".
.jpg)
On this: "Lens looking out to sea".
Above
and below are my own photographs of the extraordinary arch of the torii gate,
which is made of huge, largely unmodified tree trunks. One or more torii gates
mark the approach and entrance to all Shinto shrines; here though both the
gate, standing in the centre of the estuary mouth and the shrine itself which
is set on stilts to stand above the high tide, are unique for being built over
the water.
The
trunks are massive. People push coins into the vegetation that covers the base
of each trunk. Below is the view towards the land with the Itsukushima shrine
standing on its stilts; here the sea can be seen in the bottom half of the
picture. On the back of the photograph my father has written: "Shrine..
(and what I assume to be his interpretation of the name Itsukushima)".
On this he has written: "View of Gate from the shore".
This
next photograph shows the five-storey pagoda standing next to the Senjokaku hall
whose roof is also visible. Senjokaku means "pavilion of 1000 mats"
in Japanese and apparently the name
describes the spaciousness of the building, as the hall is approximately the
size of one thousand tradional straw-made tatami mats. My father wrote on the
back: "Paradise Island 46, Temple - Buddhist"; and indeed the hall
dates back to 1587 and was commissioned for the purpose of chanting Buddhist
sutras for fallen soldiers by one of the three unifiers of ancient Japan,
Toyotomi Hidiyoshi. Formally it is known as the Hokoku Shrine. The Five-Storied
Pagoda is believed to have been built around 1407 and is also an important
Buddhist site.
Some of my own photographs of the pagoda. An extraordinary structure and painted bright orange.
The great Senjokaku hall . A beautiful combination of tree lined corridors, polished wooden floors and vaulted ceilings.
The outer structure frames vistas across the little town and the wooded hills beyond (see below).
The
rafters of the hall are decked with pictures, many of them faded and old. The
very special representation below shows a samurai warrior together with his
horse swimming across a river. This image is quite amazing and says so much
about the celebration of the relationship between the man and the horse, the
culture of the warrior, his basic toughness and determination. I wonder if my
father saw this image when he was there himself? When I showed it to him he was
clearly moved by it; he was a man who had ridden horses and who understood the
imagery very well.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Hiroshima, Japan 1945
The Second World War is a big chapter in my father's life story. He joined the War in 1942, relatively late but he'd been working in an important management role for GEC Marconi, producing parts for the
His unit beached in
When he arrived in southern
From Singapore they were shipped out to Hong Kong, which also surrendered just
before they arrived, for a pre-invasion massing of forces. Here they were kept aboard ship in Hong
Kong harbour for most of the time, being allowed only six hours
shore leave in case a rapid departure was required. At this point the Americans
were in Okinawa and the Japanese were fighting
a desperate rearguard action.
In preparation for invasion the Americans were conducting a firebombing campaign that destroyed many Japanese cities; on 26th July 1945 in the Potsdam declaration America, Britain and the Republic of China called for Japan's surrender, threatening an alternative of "prompt and utter destruction". The Japanese government ignored this ultimatum and, whilst my father was on a troop ship heading for Tokyo, the United States then delivered the promised "destruction" when they dropped two nuclear bombs on Japanese cities.
In preparation for invasion the Americans were conducting a firebombing campaign that destroyed many Japanese cities; on 26th July 1945 in the Potsdam declaration America, Britain and the Republic of China called for Japan's surrender, threatening an alternative of "prompt and utter destruction". The Japanese government ignored this ultimatum and, whilst my father was on a troop ship heading for Tokyo, the United States then delivered the promised "destruction" when they dropped two nuclear bombs on Japanese cities.
Atomic bomb mushroom clouds over Hiroshima (left) and Nagasaki (right)
My father arrived in
Before they left for Etajima Island, my father's regiment trooped the colour in front of the
To get an idea of what this must have been like, the regimental goat can be seen in the picture below in front of the 2nd Battalion, Royal Welsh Fusiliers, in Tokyo somewhere between 1946 and 1948. The picture shows the white goat from Royal stock which always heads the Battalion on ceremonial parades followed by pioneers carrying picks, shovels and axes to commemorate the period in the Regiment's history when the Pioneers cleared the way into battle.
Hanging from the collars of the tunics of the Fusiliers who are standing to attention in the foreground of the picture, down their backs, are black flashes - a distinctive characteristic to commemorate the fact the the Royal Welch was the last British Regiment to wear 'queue bags' or pigtails (and another feature that my father always commented on: "...special" he would say, "from the days when the Fusiliers were fighting in the American Civil War and missed the general command that all soldiers should remove their pigtails and the flashes. Seven inches for other ranks, nine inches for an officer, it had to hang exactly down the seam in the middle of the uniform shirt..."). (Photograph taken by a New Zealand Army photographer; from the National Library of New Zealand).
Within a day of arriving on the coast, his commanding officer (Appreece-Jones) had suggested that my father should “take a look” at the impact of the bomb on Hiroshima and gather intelligence. It is worth noting that, whilst by now the average soldier knew about the atomic bomb, there was much ignorance surrounding its detonation and after-effects. For instance, there was little awareness of the effects of radiation; remarkably there was also a growing fear that “the world would explode” - apparently there was a widespread belief that an atomic explosion could ignite the oxygen in the atmosphere and turn the world into a fireball.
Permission to enter was gained from the Americans and with a jeep and a couple of men he carried out a reconnaissance mission and then, the day after he returned, close to 2 weeks after the bomb was dropped, he took two jeeps and men to make a fuller assessment of the situation. The Americans had used bulldozers to move the rubble off the roads (apparently these men succumbed very quickly to radiation poisoning and died); but otherwise the site was physically much as it had been in the direct aftermath of the bombing.
He still has 35 mm contact prints taken during the first visit, including shots of the now iconic metal framed dome of the one of the few buildings that remained standing (the
His reflections on his
experience were always mixed. On the one hand there was a job to do; on the other there was shock and horror at the extent of the destruction wreaked by a
single device. Those feelings would always come back strongly every time he retold the story. I gained a sense of the awe they felt on seeing the bombed city; flattened apart from a few stone buildings. He said: “..the Americans had cleared the roads and we were able to drive around the site..", and "...among all the destruction, some stone structures and iron window frames were
all that was left”.
He also had an opinion about the motives of the allies in bombing the site: "...yes, it ended the War, but the site itself was an island” (whilst just inland off the coast, it is indeed bordered by water on two sides of the roughly triangular site) and, on that basis, “...the Americans probably chose it because it was an isolated laboratory that would allow them to test the effects of the bomb”.
Finally he was left with an impression of “incredible devastation”, which he could compare with the Coventry blitz, where “no one was left alive”. Extraordinarily he was in Coventry on the night of the bombing raid that destroyed the cathedral. He himself would often reflect on the circularity of that.
He also had an opinion about the motives of the allies in bombing the site: "...yes, it ended the War, but the site itself was an island” (whilst just inland off the coast, it is indeed bordered by water on two sides of the roughly triangular site) and, on that basis, “...the Americans probably chose it because it was an isolated laboratory that would allow them to test the effects of the bomb”.
Finally he was left with an impression of “incredible devastation”, which he could compare with the Coventry blitz, where “no one was left alive”. Extraordinarily he was in Coventry on the night of the bombing raid that destroyed the cathedral. He himself would often reflect on the circularity of that.
Not long after his visit he said that “the site was closed off”. I imagine that his report lies in a file somewhere that may one day be opened again. When they got back “Doc Thomas” examined all of them and said: “we have to keep an eye on you”. At this time there was very little knowledge about the potential impacts of radiation poisoning but as far as I know he never suffered any adverse physical effects from his experience - and made it to the age of 94.
[1] ."In the moment of its incomparable blast, air became flame, walls turned to dust. 'My God,' breathed the crew of the B-29 at what they saw. Members reported, 'there was a terrific flash of light, even in the daytime ... a couple of sharp slaps against the airplane.' White smoke leaped on a mushroom stem to 20,000 feet where it spilled into a huge, billowy cloud. Then an odd thing happened. The top of this cloud broke off the stem and rose several thousand feet. As it did so, another cloud formed on the stem exactly as the first had done." -- From the article "War's Ending," LIFE, 8/20/1945. The Hiroshima
[2]
"Japanese
doctors said that those who had been killed by the blast itself died instantly.
But presently, according to these doctors, those who had suffered only small
burns found their appetite failing, their hair falling out, their gums
bleeding. They developed temperatures of 104, vomited blood, and died. It was
discovered that they had lost 86 percent of their white blood corpuscles. Last
week the Japanese announced that the count of Hiroshima
[3]
"In the
following waves [after the initial blast] people's bodies were terribly
squeezed, then their internal organs ruptured. Then the blast blew the broken
bodies at 500 to 1,000 miles per hour through the flaming, rubble-filled air.
Practically everybody within a radius of 6,500 feet was killed or seriously
injured and all buildings crushed or disemboweled." -- From the
article "Atom Bomb Effects," LIFE, 3/11/1946. To this day, of course,
historians, politicians, and military men and women the world over argue
whether the American use of atomic weapons in WWII was, in fact, justified.
That the bombs hastened the end of the war is, on the other hand, something
that even the United States Nagasaki , Japan
Sunday, March 18, 2012
A Rugby Man
Yesterday afternoon (17 March 2012) the Welsh rugby team beat France at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff in their final game of the 'Six Nations' tournament. In doing so they achieved the 'Grand Slam' (beating every other side), the Championship and, on the way, the 'Triple Crown' (beating the other three home nations). It is the third time they have achieved the Grand Slam in the last 7 years and represents a total rehabilitation of the team following the frustrations of the late 80's and the 90's; (when the regular failures of the Welsh team, especially against England, were a source of much pain and misery for the true supporter).
My father would have been delighted. He was a rugby man through and through and a great player in his time. He was an avid watcher of international rugby and he and I and, latterly, his grandchildren, particularly his grandson Bryn, had been through the whole gamut of emotions over the years with Wales and with him. He was a hugely passionate spectator and communicated that passion to us.
His own rugby career had humble beginnings. He described how, as a child and with no-one having enough money to buy a proper ball, he and his friends would use a paper bread bag stuffed with rags and tied shut as a makeshift ball. They would play in the backstreets and in the fields and, of course, at school.
By the age of 17 he was school captain of the Aberdare Grammar rugby team and, as one of the most promising players of his generation, he was selected in the centre to play for a representative side against the touring New Zealand All Blacks. At the last minute he was withdrawn from the side (because of his young age and for his own safety) but he had the honour of receiving the All Black team at his school. He recalled the huge hand of the New Zealand captain, a second row forward, enveloping his own as he looked up at the giant. He received a silver fern (which is the symbol of the All Black team, worn on their shirts) which he left with his parents when he went away. He missed his mother's death and the fern was lost at that time. He consistently reflected on its whereabouts, including with his sisters, but he never saw it again.
At that age he had already been invited to play for the Neath senior XV. One of the more feared sides in South Wales at that time, he played several games and still had the black Neath jersey with the white cross on it - indeed, they were called the "Neath All Blacks". He described sitting in the changing rooms after the first game and the captain coming over and congratulating him on the performance. He slipped a 'ten bob note' (ten shillings, a lot of money at that time) into his boot, which was sitting on the bench next to him. He winked and said: "keep it under your hat Bryn".
The reality, as my father said to me, was that Rugby Union was not an amateur game at the level of the senior clubs. For working class players in South Wales, iron and steel workers and coal miners, to be able to train during the week and play on a Saturday they would have to be paid to compensate their loss of earnings. This is exactly what happened to the game in the North of England; which became professional and broke away as Rugby League. Rugby union finally became professional in the 1980's (much to the amusement of my father).
In the meantime the game had been dominated by hypocrisy right up to the level of the administration; to the extent that anything deemed "professional" was totally vilified. This was clear even when listening to sports commentators who passed their judgement on players who 'defected' to rugby league. Everyone knew that often these were working class boys from the valleys who would be going back to a job in the pit when they retired from rugby; unlike their middle class English and Scottish counterparts who were more often than not highly educated and could take a job in the city, medicine or some such. This is of course a generalisation but my father never liked the double standards in it, particularly when a large number of those in the game clearly knew it to be a facade. Professionalism was one of the best things that could ever have happened to rugby union.
I think it was in our discussions about rugby that I first heard him mention the "Taffia" - the so called 'mafia' who governed Welsh Rugby. Leading him to reflect on that wonderful observation of I know not whom, that; "the Welsh pray in Church on a Sunday and every other day of the week they prey on each other...".
After Aberdare Grammar and Neath, he played at university and then in Coventry for what was then one of the stronger English teams; then the war came. At the end of the war he found himself in Japan; at this point he played in a Combined Services team against the 'Anzaks' - New Zealand and Australia. This was the closest that he would get to an international cap, but who knows what would have happened if it hadn't been for the War?
After the war he played for Chester for a while before leaving for Africa. I still remember my mother taking me to see him play when we lived in Malawi. She hated the game ("too violent") but probably took me because this was one of his last games. I don't remember much of course - faded blue shirts and a bone hard pitch with the scrum kicking up dust, a white paling fence around the pitch and siting in a small grandstand. By this time he was 49 and playing in the scrum as a flank forward.
When we returned to England he became a spectator rather than a player. He took me to see Oxford University at the 'Parks' in Oxford play the touring New Zealanders, the Australians and the Stanley's Invitation XV. Here I saw the great Barry John (one of a long line of Welsh number 10's) and the huge second row, Peter Whiting of New Zealand who, before the kick off, came down to the touchline under the posts, jumped up and touched the cross bar.
A long time later I took him to see England play the Netherlands at the Huddersfield Town football stadium, prior to one of the world cup competitions. It ended 110-0; in spite of the score he was impressed with the physicality of the players and highly amused when the crowd (this is Rugby League territory) booed at the minority who sang the England rugby union anthem "Swing Low Sweet Chariot"! I was able to take my daughter Hannah a number of times and my son Bryn to see Great Britain playing Australia and new Zealand in rugby league test matches at the same stadium a few years running after that.
He also loved rugby league. The thirteen man version of the game is one of the hardest sports in the world and the players have great ball handling skills and enormous physical toughness. At least he could see rugby league on television (rugby union at club level was hardly ever screened) and I remember watching it with him on rainy weekends, on our black and white TV with the famous Eddie Waring commentating.
We used to kick and pass a ball to each other in the garden. Once, when I must have been 14 or 15 (and he would have been around 60), he told me to run the ball past him. I was playing first XV rugby when I left school and was no slouch. I dummied and side stepped but to no avail and he literally took me out with a full blooded tackle that stopped me in my tracks and sent me flying backwards. By the time I got back to my feet he was sauntering off to do more gardening. I got an insight then into what a hard and uncompromising player he must have been.
Well, I have to dedicate the most recent Wales Grand Slam to the 'Old man'. I am sure he is up there smiling broadly!
My father would have been delighted. He was a rugby man through and through and a great player in his time. He was an avid watcher of international rugby and he and I and, latterly, his grandchildren, particularly his grandson Bryn, had been through the whole gamut of emotions over the years with Wales and with him. He was a hugely passionate spectator and communicated that passion to us.
His own rugby career had humble beginnings. He described how, as a child and with no-one having enough money to buy a proper ball, he and his friends would use a paper bread bag stuffed with rags and tied shut as a makeshift ball. They would play in the backstreets and in the fields and, of course, at school.
By the age of 17 he was school captain of the Aberdare Grammar rugby team and, as one of the most promising players of his generation, he was selected in the centre to play for a representative side against the touring New Zealand All Blacks. At the last minute he was withdrawn from the side (because of his young age and for his own safety) but he had the honour of receiving the All Black team at his school. He recalled the huge hand of the New Zealand captain, a second row forward, enveloping his own as he looked up at the giant. He received a silver fern (which is the symbol of the All Black team, worn on their shirts) which he left with his parents when he went away. He missed his mother's death and the fern was lost at that time. He consistently reflected on its whereabouts, including with his sisters, but he never saw it again.
At that age he had already been invited to play for the Neath senior XV. One of the more feared sides in South Wales at that time, he played several games and still had the black Neath jersey with the white cross on it - indeed, they were called the "Neath All Blacks". He described sitting in the changing rooms after the first game and the captain coming over and congratulating him on the performance. He slipped a 'ten bob note' (ten shillings, a lot of money at that time) into his boot, which was sitting on the bench next to him. He winked and said: "keep it under your hat Bryn".
The reality, as my father said to me, was that Rugby Union was not an amateur game at the level of the senior clubs. For working class players in South Wales, iron and steel workers and coal miners, to be able to train during the week and play on a Saturday they would have to be paid to compensate their loss of earnings. This is exactly what happened to the game in the North of England; which became professional and broke away as Rugby League. Rugby union finally became professional in the 1980's (much to the amusement of my father).
In the meantime the game had been dominated by hypocrisy right up to the level of the administration; to the extent that anything deemed "professional" was totally vilified. This was clear even when listening to sports commentators who passed their judgement on players who 'defected' to rugby league. Everyone knew that often these were working class boys from the valleys who would be going back to a job in the pit when they retired from rugby; unlike their middle class English and Scottish counterparts who were more often than not highly educated and could take a job in the city, medicine or some such. This is of course a generalisation but my father never liked the double standards in it, particularly when a large number of those in the game clearly knew it to be a facade. Professionalism was one of the best things that could ever have happened to rugby union.
I think it was in our discussions about rugby that I first heard him mention the "Taffia" - the so called 'mafia' who governed Welsh Rugby. Leading him to reflect on that wonderful observation of I know not whom, that; "the Welsh pray in Church on a Sunday and every other day of the week they prey on each other...".
After Aberdare Grammar and Neath, he played at university and then in Coventry for what was then one of the stronger English teams; then the war came. At the end of the war he found himself in Japan; at this point he played in a Combined Services team against the 'Anzaks' - New Zealand and Australia. This was the closest that he would get to an international cap, but who knows what would have happened if it hadn't been for the War?
After the war he played for Chester for a while before leaving for Africa. I still remember my mother taking me to see him play when we lived in Malawi. She hated the game ("too violent") but probably took me because this was one of his last games. I don't remember much of course - faded blue shirts and a bone hard pitch with the scrum kicking up dust, a white paling fence around the pitch and siting in a small grandstand. By this time he was 49 and playing in the scrum as a flank forward.
When we returned to England he became a spectator rather than a player. He took me to see Oxford University at the 'Parks' in Oxford play the touring New Zealanders, the Australians and the Stanley's Invitation XV. Here I saw the great Barry John (one of a long line of Welsh number 10's) and the huge second row, Peter Whiting of New Zealand who, before the kick off, came down to the touchline under the posts, jumped up and touched the cross bar.
A long time later I took him to see England play the Netherlands at the Huddersfield Town football stadium, prior to one of the world cup competitions. It ended 110-0; in spite of the score he was impressed with the physicality of the players and highly amused when the crowd (this is Rugby League territory) booed at the minority who sang the England rugby union anthem "Swing Low Sweet Chariot"! I was able to take my daughter Hannah a number of times and my son Bryn to see Great Britain playing Australia and new Zealand in rugby league test matches at the same stadium a few years running after that.
He also loved rugby league. The thirteen man version of the game is one of the hardest sports in the world and the players have great ball handling skills and enormous physical toughness. At least he could see rugby league on television (rugby union at club level was hardly ever screened) and I remember watching it with him on rainy weekends, on our black and white TV with the famous Eddie Waring commentating.
We used to kick and pass a ball to each other in the garden. Once, when I must have been 14 or 15 (and he would have been around 60), he told me to run the ball past him. I was playing first XV rugby when I left school and was no slouch. I dummied and side stepped but to no avail and he literally took me out with a full blooded tackle that stopped me in my tracks and sent me flying backwards. By the time I got back to my feet he was sauntering off to do more gardening. I got an insight then into what a hard and uncompromising player he must have been.
Well, I have to dedicate the most recent Wales Grand Slam to the 'Old man'. I am sure he is up there smiling broadly!
Friday, January 20, 2012
20 January - Dad's birthday
It has to be said that my father was outwardly not one for birthdays. After my mother died his default present was a cheque or cash (for varying amounts). Indeed, as he got older this amount tended to decrease for all of us (me, grandchildren and others) as his memory skipped the recent present and recalled an earlier time when five pounds was a lot of money. Chris, my mother, had always bought the presents that they would give together, a task she delighted in, and he was more than happy to go along with it.
"You mustn't get me anything" was his usual plea when it came to his own birthday; or "you shouldn't have" when he saw the present. Books, videos (latterly DVDs) and CDs were common, indulging his tastes for autobiographies, choral music and period dramas. His granddaughter Abigail recounts seeing 'Pride and Prejudice' on countless afternoons after he had picked her up from school; and also to being fed slices of apple dipped in sugar (about which her health concious parents would have been horrified!).
Of course, being the social animal that he was he hugely enjoyed being the centre of attention and sooner or later the storytelling would begin. This is the first time in 52 years that I won't be calling him or coming over to his house to celebrate with him; I will miss those moments as he would graciously accept the plaudits for passing yet another milestone.
Happy birthday Dad.
Love Lawrence x
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Chronology and Category
Whilst my father's stories were told on an apparently random basis, triggered by circumstance, conversation topic or some other internal or external prompt, they do group into an obvious chronology and can also be categorised into themes.
He was born in Hirwaun in South Wales and lived there until he went to University in Birmingham. This represents a distinct 'era' in which his family, in particular his grandparents and his parents, feature large. There are local characters and places, exploits with friends, school and sport. It also encompasses the Depression, coal mining and farming. Rugby remained a constant theme, spanning all the years of his life, as did many of the interests he developed in those early years.
University in Birmingham and then his first job in Coventry are the second era. He was the first of his family to go to university where he read economics. He met my mother in Coventry and married her when he returned at the end of the Second world War. He didn't join up immediately because his job was considered important as a contribution to the war effort and he wasn't allowed to leave. Instead he became an ARP and endured the Blitz.
It is fair to say that he had a 'big' war. From the point that he joined up, his training, the war in Europe and his passage to Japan via India, Singapore and Hong Kong he endured (and in many cases enjoyed) a string of exploits and life shaping experiences. After Japan, where he saw Hiroshima first hand, he was offered a commission in the Royal Welch Fusiliers as a professional soldier.
He turned it down but it wasn't so long before he and my mother left for Africa to follow a career in the Colonial Service. Another era when he was again actively participating in a time when our modern history was being made. A time of political change and paradigm shift. This is where he defined his 'Welshness'; because one of the things that happens to a Welshman like my father, who has left his country never to live there again, is that they become passionate and self-appointed 'ambassadors' for everything Welsh. Such feelings were, in his case, driven on the one side by 'hwyl' (intense pride and passion) and on the other 'hiraeth' (longing - in this case for home). They left after the colonial sun had already dipped below the horizon. Rather than take another role abroad, which he had been offered, they decided to return to England and to start all over again.
The next phase, as I grew up and he and my mother grew old in the home counties, was when I listened to his stories and made the voyage around my father's previous life. In this part the stories are mine; stories about him and us, reflections on the man himself.
And then there is the 'time before dad'. As I joked with my children: Before Dad (BD) and Anno Pater (AP); or for my children Before Grandad (BG) and Anno Pater Grandis (APG). Stories he told about his near and distant ancestors; the Celts and their history (an enduring interest); and the history of the Welsh Valleys.
I am not sure how I will recount his life and times. Maybe a level of randomness is required - to be ordered (and no doubt reordered) in due course as the pages grow.
Lawrence J-W
He was born in Hirwaun in South Wales and lived there until he went to University in Birmingham. This represents a distinct 'era' in which his family, in particular his grandparents and his parents, feature large. There are local characters and places, exploits with friends, school and sport. It also encompasses the Depression, coal mining and farming. Rugby remained a constant theme, spanning all the years of his life, as did many of the interests he developed in those early years.
University in Birmingham and then his first job in Coventry are the second era. He was the first of his family to go to university where he read economics. He met my mother in Coventry and married her when he returned at the end of the Second world War. He didn't join up immediately because his job was considered important as a contribution to the war effort and he wasn't allowed to leave. Instead he became an ARP and endured the Blitz.
It is fair to say that he had a 'big' war. From the point that he joined up, his training, the war in Europe and his passage to Japan via India, Singapore and Hong Kong he endured (and in many cases enjoyed) a string of exploits and life shaping experiences. After Japan, where he saw Hiroshima first hand, he was offered a commission in the Royal Welch Fusiliers as a professional soldier.
He turned it down but it wasn't so long before he and my mother left for Africa to follow a career in the Colonial Service. Another era when he was again actively participating in a time when our modern history was being made. A time of political change and paradigm shift. This is where he defined his 'Welshness'; because one of the things that happens to a Welshman like my father, who has left his country never to live there again, is that they become passionate and self-appointed 'ambassadors' for everything Welsh. Such feelings were, in his case, driven on the one side by 'hwyl' (intense pride and passion) and on the other 'hiraeth' (longing - in this case for home). They left after the colonial sun had already dipped below the horizon. Rather than take another role abroad, which he had been offered, they decided to return to England and to start all over again.
The next phase, as I grew up and he and my mother grew old in the home counties, was when I listened to his stories and made the voyage around my father's previous life. In this part the stories are mine; stories about him and us, reflections on the man himself.
And then there is the 'time before dad'. As I joked with my children: Before Dad (BD) and Anno Pater (AP); or for my children Before Grandad (BG) and Anno Pater Grandis (APG). Stories he told about his near and distant ancestors; the Celts and their history (an enduring interest); and the history of the Welsh Valleys.
I am not sure how I will recount his life and times. Maybe a level of randomness is required - to be ordered (and no doubt reordered) in due course as the pages grow.
Lawrence J-W
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