21 NOVEMBER 1992, Page 71

SPECTATOR SPORT

Rugger brothers

Frank Keating

THE RAIN and the generally glum and uneasy atmosphere which the South Africans have carried around with them made the Springboks' return to Twicken- ham on Saturday anything but a bright- eyed, welcome-back party. The England XV played a disjointed, bitty game, but it was easily enough to send the po-faced tourists packing. Word is that if diehard rugby administrators down there do not get their act together and begin taking the game into the townships and non-white schools — as football, athletics and, tri- umphantly by all accounts, cricket has done — we will not see a Springbok rugger side back here for some time. THE RAIN and the generally glum and uneasy atmosphere which the South Africans have carried around with them made the Springboks' return to Twicken- ham on Saturday anything but a bright- eyed, welcome-back party. The England XV played a disjointed, bitty game, but it was easily enough to send the po-faced tourists packing. Word is that if diehard rugby administrators down there do not get their act together and begin taking the game into the townships and non-white schools — as football, athletics and, tri- umphantly by all accounts, cricket has done — we will not see a Springbok rugger side back here for some time.

Most glistening moment of a bar-of-soap, butter-fingered match on Saturday was the first of England's four tries, when the Underwood brothers colluded with a thrilling loop-the-loop to touch down at the corner-flag. It was scored by young Tony, making his debutant's curtsy in the white shirt, and set up by Rory, who was playing his 56th international.

It is well over half a century since a pair of brothers played rugby for England in the same match — the two Coventry lorry drivers, Arthur and Harold Wheatley, each had a few games in the scrum in the late 1930s. Wales have probably fielded hun- dreds of pairs of brothers — I suppose the Moriarty boyos were the last — but with them it is impossible to tell in the record books, so full are they of either inbreeding or lack of originality in surnames. For instance, 16 Lewises, 21 Morgans, 40 Evanses and Williamses, and over 50 Davieses and Joneses have played for Wales. Dammit, this weekend a Williams- Jones, a South Wales copper, turns out at the Arms Park against Australia. Sixty years ago, a Jones-Davies won a scarlet tasselled cap.

The Scots are easily the most fraternal of rugger bods. The Calder brothers, Jim, John and Finlay, spring to immediate mind, and those two cracking athletes, Gavin and Scott Hastings, who have careered into England's apple-cart on more than a few memorable occasions.

Way back in the mists, Louis and Ken- neth MacLeod were rampaging Scottish centres together. The latter they called `Grunt'. In the 1908 Varsity match, played in thick fog at London's Queen's Club, `Grunt' let fly with a drop-goal attempt for Cambridge in the last minute with the scores level at 0-0. The referee could not see if it had cleared the bar. 'How was it, Grunt?' he asked the kicker. 'No goal' was MacLeod's instant answer. The final whis- tle sounded.

Around the same time, the Scots also fielded the dashing Bedell-Sivrights broth- ers, JV and DR. They called the latter `Darkie'. He was a ferocious foot-rusher 'Feet! Scotland, feed' — in the traditional charge. Darkie captained the British Lions, and toured South Africa with them less than a year after the Boer War ended in 1902. (No cutting off all sporting fixtures because of a war then, as Mrs Thatcher insisted for years on not playing Argentina in the 1980s).

I thought of that tour of Darkie's on Sat- urday when the packed stadium was asked, quite crassly, to give a standing ovation to President de Klerk. If apartheid stopped rugby for over 20 years, the Boer War didn't. The other day I came across this let- ter, written in high Dutch while the guns were still blazing in early 1902, to the Hon. Major Edwards from Field Gen. Maritz of the Transvaal Scouts. The translation reads: I have agreed to a rugby match taking place between you and us. I, from my side, agree to a cease-fire tomorrow from 12 o'clock until sunset, the time and venue to be arranged by you in consultation with Roberts and Van Rooyen. I have the honour etc.

Probably a better game than Saturdays too.