14 NOVEMBER 1992, Page 63

SPECTATOR SPORT

Springbok romance

Frank Keating

IN SPITE of all, it is good to see a Spring- bok rugby side back at Twickenham after their banishment of almost 23 years. Such a feeling comes, in the spirit of reconcilia- tion, from a bloke who saw them off, on that January afternoon in 1970 when they beat the Barbarians, by unloading in good riddance the two flour bombs which he had smuggled into the old stadium in the pock- ets of his duffle-coat. Since when the sport- ing boycott of South Africa played its tiny but potent part in the wider scheme of things. Now it seems to me that it is crucial for sport, in its minuscule way, to assist in the multiracial bridge-building between the communities down there.

In terms of sporting romance, there is no doubt the entrance again into rugby union's HQ of those 15 spring-green shirts trimmed with ochre will riddle the spine as it always has. For most of the century there has been an awesome and relentlessly unbeatable aura about any Springbok rugger side even though, after their long absence from the big time, this weekend they are not fan- cied to beat the champions of Europe.

I had just attempted my 11-plus when Springbok rugby's fearsomeness first began to frighten me at nights. On their tour of 1950-51, they laid British rugby to waste and came down to Twickenham after beat- ing Scotland by 44-0, an immense margin in

those touchline-hugging days. At full-back, England selected my then winter hero, Bill Hook, a stately, unsupple man who had a kick like a mule, a greased head of black hair with a signwriter-straight middle part- ing, and who kept a sports-goods shop in Westgate Street, Gloucester.

South Africa won by only 8-3 — and our Bill not only missed two tremendously easy kicks at goal through nerves, but also allowed a Springbok to vault over his creak- ingly geriatric tackle for their winning try. We didn't know where to look for months — certainly not to catch Bill's eye when he gave us our change after our regular pur- chase of a couple of ping-pong balls.

Nineteen years later, that final 'flour bomb' match at Twickenham ushered the Springboks, to all intents, into their sport- ing limbo — it was of course only a winter after South Africa had refused entry with the England cricket team of Basil D'Oliveira. In spite of the packets of McDougalls and the ugly atmosphere and a superlative left-wing try by England's dasher, David Duckham — the Springboks sombrely signed off with a brave victory. Then the jailer's door clanged shut.

Now, 23 winters on, they are back at Twickenham. Still an all-white XV — to my mind, 'tokenism' in team selection would be un-usefully daft — and still the same green and gold shirts; only the leaping Springbok badge at the breast now entwined with a garland of proteas, the pink flowers of racial conciliation.

Sport's anti-apartheid 'war' took 20 times longer to be officially forgotten than the actual Anglo-Boer war with guns. That bloody conflict ended in 1902. Within a year, the British Lions rugby team toured the Dominion (P22, W11, L8). Three years later, in 1906, the first South African side toured Britain (P28, W25). The man from the Daily Mail noticed the antelope motif on their blazer badges when the Union Castle ship, Gascon, docked at Plymouth. He called them 'the Springboks' in next morning's paper. The captain, Paul Roos, wrote to the editor saying the correct plural in Afrikaans was `Springbokken' and that the team would prefer that collective noun.

As it ever has, the Mail took no notice and continued to do its own thing.