I know it's only Ruck and Maul

But I like it

It has been a while since I have had time and chance to sit down and write something. I have had loads of ideas in my mind to try and write in a coherent and interesting way, but in all honesty, it would just end up with me moaning about the state this country is in and no one wants to read that! So here I go and try again.

Earlier this evening I sat down with a cold and refreshing beverage and some greasy, brown food from the take away to watch the first match of the rugby (union) World Cup. France vs New Zealand. The hosts vs the All Blacks, Northern Hemisphere vs Southern Hemisphere.

I love rugby. It's a great game. I am a qualified ref and youth coach at my local club. I try and watch at least one game a season at Twickenham and as many as I can at the local club. It's great for mental health as a distraction from life and we can enjoy it as a family.

The closest an English man has got to the Webb Ellis Trophy since 2003

You may be familiar with the game and can tell your ruck from your maul and your fly half from your scrum half or you may not have seen or heard from it at all. That's OK as this is actually about reflection and how little moments in life can trigger a memory.

Summer 1995.

I was 12 years old. My little brother hadn't been born, my arm had recently been released from its full length cast from when I broke both the bones in my right forearm.

It was also rugby World Cup year and the newly apartheid free South Africa was hosting the tournament. Nelson Mandela had cunningly used the tournament as an opportunity to embrace what traditionally had been the “white man's sport” and shown the world a new order with this host nation winning the tournament for the first time. If you want a loosely-based-on-real-life-events introduction to this period you can watch the film Invictus starring Matt Damon (I can never say his name without going all Team America) and Morgan Freeman.

Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon uniting a preciously segregated South Africa (Nelon Mandela and Francois Pienaar)

It was also the last summer I would spend with my Nana. Indeed she and my Grandad were visiting us on that historical day in 1995. By the December she will have died in South Africa from liver cancer. My grandparents didn't do winter so like a pair of migratory birds, or Mary Poppins, as soon as the weather turned they would swap hemispheres and continue their eternal life of summer!

That world cup and each one after then triggers deep memories and reminders for me. She was my Dad's mum. Born and raised in the South Wales valleys and spending the majority of her adult life in South Africa after my Grandad got a job in the mining industry, her accent was a remarkable cross and could not be mimicked. A formidable knitter, she could easily craft a jumper whilst simultaneously holding a full conversation and peer over her glasses (in a way only grandmothers do) to check on her surroundings. She also made the most delicious Welsh cakes and chocolate topped shortbread.

It's hard to say how 30 men on a pitch every 4 years triggers these memories but they do. Music often plays a significant role in these moments of reflection and indeed World in Union is a case in point. If you don't know it, you will definitely know the tune from Holst's “Thaxted” section from “Jupiter” or indeed the hymn “I vow to thee, my country” to a soundtrack in the episode “Sleepy Time” from children’s TV show, Bluey.

You can see the original ITV opening credits sequence on YouTube below.

If you still don't know it then back to music class you go!

Anyway play the opening sequence in my presence and I will be a blubbering wreck in seconds. Grief works in weird ways. There is no rule book (except the criminal statute laws) no right or wrong way to grieve. However I will always take those moments of extra reflection every four years when I am taken back to the summer of 1995 and unbeknown to any of us at the time, those last moments. They aren't sad or reflective, just happy normal life. And there is something very reassuring about that.

So for the next 8 weeks or so I will be absorbed in the rugby,cursing England’s stodgy play, wondering what’s happened to Wales, watch as the world is shocked as New Zealand get knocked out early (I.e not reach the semi finals) and silently curse as France lift the cup on home soil.

Until next time, crouch, bind, set