Advent 17

We started this advent journey in sunny Nuneaton, my favourite away venue at which to play God's own Rugby Union Football. Today we have something of an altogether higher order - quite simply the best rugby ground in the world. The Aston Old Edwardian Memorial Ground was bought as a permanent monument to the one hundred and twenty-three Aston Old Edwardians who fell in the Great War. Our picture shows the memorial stone at the ground.

 I learned more about myself as a rugby player on this modest turf than anywhere else, more even than at Trinity Road where I played my schoolboy rugby. Here I enjoyed the best win of my career, 11-8 against a menacing Newbold. Here I had played my first ever formal match (Under 12's against Central Grammar where Dad was deputy head) and thirty-six years later with a pleasing symmetry I played my last on the self-same pitch - the smallest third pitch at the top of the ground. I had made a particular tackle that pleased me and when the final whistle sounded I knew that now would be the right time to call it a day. No prior announcement and no lavish ceremony afterwards. At that final moment I briefly dawdled behind my teammates, bent down unseen and kissed the turf and then rejoined the throng for the civilites of applauding off our opponents. I miss it still but there is only so much punishment one can sensibly inflict on an old body. In truth I was already well past my sell-by-date.