My Hen Laid a Haddock...

I have occasionally said to one or two of my nationalist compatriots that my favourite National Anthem is the Welsh one, Land Of My Fathers. "Her warriors are gallant and brave; her poets of great renown", says the powerful refrain. And while I watch Scotland's First XV put up a gallant fight against Australia's, I thought I might take a moment to explain.

When I was young I loved my rugby union football; I still think it is the finest sport in the world. In the late 1970’s though things were even better. The game, from top to bottom, was still amateur; the gentlemen who pulled on their national colours [and no shirt sponsors either, just a crest] did so for no other reward than their mother’s pride.

In those days, Queen Victoria School’s pipe band, cited by many as the best juvenile band in the world, played before every game at Murrayfield; and quid pro quo the School had access to a plentiful supply of “schoolboys’ enclosure” tickets. This area ran as a perimeter round the field of play, with the long, sloping terraces behind. Murrayfield nowadays tops out at a capacity of about sixty thousand, and has trouble selling out. Back then, before the re-development of the 80’s, it regularly held crowds of one hundred thousand. The trick, from a schoolboy’s point of view, was to get onto the terraces with the adult supporters. There one could ask men for cigarettes, pester French visitors for wine from gourds, and learn to swear.

The Welsh came to Edinburgh every second year, and brought with them the best rugby players in the world. They rucked, mauled, kicked and ran with fearlessness, stamina, and a beauty often missing from the modern, professional game. And the Welshmen could sing; winning, losing, or as an inspiration to their champions; but they sang loudest with Land Of My Fathers. As my pipe band struck up the notes, fifty thousand of them would come in, in tempo and in tune. Their song, in their own language, rises to a huge climax; and as this chorus rang all around my national stadium, I felt, in the truest sense of the word, terrified. It stuck in the throat to have to sing God Save the Queen after that.

And having sung their hearts out, the Welsh, with players like JPR Williams on the sheet, would usually hand their hosts an instructive thumping.

Andrew Mishmash