"What A Turn-up For The Big Green!"
What a turn-up indeed! Britain and the fine old British game of Rugby had never seen the like of it: here were 19 young New Englanders playing Rugger with a zest and determination that set one British team after another back on its ears. It all came about when the Dartmouth Rugby Club decided to send a team to England over the holiday season, partly to try its luck in the land of Rugby's birth, partly as a gesture of good will.
The British press, after one astonished look at the first game ( Dartmouth 5, Old Millhillians 0), hailed the crew-cut invasion with sporting glee—"What a turn-up for the Yanks!" said the Daily Sketch—and as the touring New Englanders racked up an impressive 5-2 total, good will and Rugby flourished. With Dartmouth Was Author Corey Ford, patron, neighbor and friend of the team, who here tells the story.
There'll always be an England, of course, but it may never be quite the same again after the historic invasion of the 19 husky stalwarts of the Dartmouth Rugby team last month—the first American Rugby team to visit Jolly Old since the game originated here 135 years ago. The team broke new ground in another respect: this was the first athletic unit to travel abroad under the banner of President Eisenhower's People to People Sports Program, and from every point of view the trip was a huge and heart-warming success. What the Dartmouth men lacked in finesse they more than made up in tackling power, in conditioning, in sheer do-or-die. They returned from their three-week tour last week with five wins out of seven games, and the British loved it. The Daily Express summed it up: "Now British Rugby knows the worst—Americans can play our game."
More to the point was the plaintive comment of a mud-caked and battered member of the Hong Kong-Shanghai Bank side, which had just absorbed an 11-3 beating at the hands of the Yanks. Victors and vanquished alike were sharing a 20-foot square bathtub in the locker room at New Beckenham, soaping each other's backs and steaming out their mutual aches in the murky water. One of the defeated players peered through the steam at his American opponent seated across the tub. "I mean to say, old chap," he sighed, "why didn't you give us some sort of warning?"
Well, the Dartmouth players can answer that. They didn't have any warning, either. Just in case you happen to be planning to forward a Rugby team to England sometime, here's the inside story of how it happened.
Ever since the game of Rugby was started at Dartmouth, back in 1953, we have been dreaming of an overseas tour. I use the word "we" advisedly; for my house adjoins the Dartmouth campus, and in the course of time it has become the unofficial Rugby Club headquarters. So it was in my living room that the plans for the trip to England were hatched.
Our fall Rugby season had been completed with a total score of 89-0, giving Dartmouth the mythical eastern title, and now, with the end of football, the team had been augmented by four star members of our Ivy League champion squad. Eddie Eagan, chairman of the People to People Sports Committee, had invited the Dartmouth players to initiate his new program which, in President Eisenhower's own conception, is "dedicated to the promotion of international sports exchange on the premise that when good sportsmen get together mutual understanding and friendship are broadened and the prospects for peace are enhanced." Dick Liesching, a scholarship student from England and president of the Rugby Club, enlisted the aid of his father, R. R. de L. Liesching of Surrey, in arranging a schedule. The only problem was how to raise the money.
The Dartmouth Rugby Club, like most American Rugby groups, is self-coached and self-financed. Many of the players are on scholarship, and working their way through school. The college's limited athletic budget could not be tapped. Bit by bit, nevertheless, donations began to come in. Loyal Dartmouth alumni and Rugby enthusiasts sent in personal checks to help defray expenses. Pan American helped out; so did Eddie Eagan's committee; in addition I promised to turn over the proceeds from this article to swell the kitty. Team members pawned watches and rings in order to make their own contributions to the cause.
At the last possible minute the final and deciding contribution came in from Dartmouth Alumnus Sigurd Larmon, president of Young & Rubicam; and the long-awaited bulletin was posted on the door of the Beta house for all the players to see: "We're on our way to England. Get your smallpox shots." Long-distance phone calls broke the news to parents that their sons wouldn't be with them this Christmas; several players who, having given up hope, had already started home for the holidays were hauled back to Hanover in frantic haste; dates converged on the Dartmouth campus for tearful farewells. Dick Liesching woke his father in Surrey at 3 a.m. with the good news. "Of course," Dick added, "we're really not world-beaters, you know, Father."
"Just so long as you know the basic rules," Mr. Liesching senior consoled him, "we should have a lot of fun."
They knew the rules. Twenty-four hours after they landed in London, they took on their first opponents, an experienced Haslemere side. Score: Dartmouth 12, Haslemere 0.
"They made their entrance," reported the London Times, "with all the bounce and, at the same time, the endearing humility of Pooh's great friend Tigger." After their first appearance at Haslemere, British Rugby enthusiasts rallied to their aid. Dr. P. S. de Q. Cabot, co-founder of the Eastern U.S.A. Rugby Union and now its British representative, became their English sponsor, and Jerry Jenkins, a former Cambridge Blue, volunteered to help as coach. "That's one example of British sportsmanship we'll never forget," John Hessler, our team captain, said. "They weren't so much interested in winning over us as they were in helping us to be a better Rugby team."
They were also learning other things about British Rugger customs. Once, for instance, when an opposing player was felled by a hard tackle and had to be assisted off the field, Dartmouth Prop Forward Mike Mooney generously applauded the downed player. He was reminded severely that one doesn't do that over here, old boy; only when a player recovers and returns to the game is he applauded. "They thought I was cheering because the other team had lost a player," Mooney sighed later. "It was really very trying."
The British were learning about American customs, too. The London Telegraph reported to its readers about the strange American tribal rites of pregame warmups: "Their impressive preliminaries comprised a series of exercises, performed in a circle and ranging from press-ups to a painful contortion which the military would be pleased to call 'alternate toe-touching.' These completed, a short conference was held, the group eventually breaking up with a fierce war cry."
Equally baffling to the British hosts were the exhortations of the American partisans in the sidelines, including such Yankee words of encouragement as "Heads up, Green!" or "Come on, baby, let's go!" These shouts, ringing out above the occasional discreet "Well played, indeed!" from the other side, produced some frowns among British spectators. Even more distressing was the frequent American yell of "Hit 'em!" which was interpreted as an open incitation to mayhem. "Not quite our regular procedure, I mean to say," a tight-lipped Briton remarked to me.
"FROM LARGE TO VERY LARGE"
London was growing used to strange sights. Nursemaids with perambulators and Englishmen with folded umbrellas paused to stare in frank disbelief at the daily workouts in Hyde Park, where a score of bulky figures in green Dartmouth jerseys and sweatpants were practicing scrumdowns on the hallowed site of political oratory. Pedestrians gazed open-mouthed as a chartered bus rolled down Piccadilly, filled with Dartmouth players, while Jake Crouthamel perched atop a pile of gear in the front of the bus and taped the shaved ankles of his teammates on the way to the next game. Even the size of the players was a source of considerable consternation. The Express commented that "they range from large to very large," and Al Krutsch, Dartmouth football captain and all-Ivy guard, was described by one sportswriter as "a caterpillar tractor, only more mobile." At the Savile Club an elderly member, informed that Rugby was also played at such Ivy League schools as Yale and Harvard, pondered thoughtfully: " Harvard? Harvard? Oh, yes, isn't that somewhere near Dartmouth?"
But inevitably these first startled impressions gave way to a deeper understanding. Ambassador Jock Whitney, after receiving the Dartmouth team, wrote them: "This venture you have undertaken is, in itself, an excellent contribution to the growing ties between British and American people. And your fine showing is a credit to your college and your country. Looking at the results of your efforts here, you are painting the town green." Prince Philip sent a warm telegram of congratulations and good wishes. The Earl of Dartmouth, for whose family the college was named, appeared in person to offer his greetings to his New Hampshire namesakes. Field-Marshal Montgomery, shaking hands with the American players after a match, was asked how he felt about seeing a Yankee team beat the British at their own game. "Jolly good," he said. "Makes us sit up, you know, keeps us from getting too complacent. Jolly good indeed." Children stopped team members on the sidewalk for autographs; and when they appeared at Richmond for their final game, the louder shouts were for the American side: "Well played, indeed, Daht-muth!"
And when the visitors upset all the experts by taking Richmond 16-3, the losing side, following British Rugby tradition, formed a double line and applauded the mud-smeared Yankees as they walked to the locker rooms, and then walked through a double line of Yanks, who applauded the losers in turn. You felt that a lot more had been learned than Rugby, in a couple of short weeks. "We learned about sportsmanship over here," Al Krutsch said solemnly, "and we learned humility." You felt the experience would not be forgotten by either side.
So that night the weary Dart-mouths boarded the Pan Am Clipper for the States, wearing English club ties which they had exchanged with their hosts, sporting black bowler hats, even carrying a huge guitar purchased (at a discount) in Soho. When the airplane stewardess started her usual explanation about how to put on a Mae West, the team solemnly chanted an English Rugby song they had learned from the Millhillians:
"Why was she born so beautiful, why was she born at all?
She's no bloody use to anyone, no bloody use at all."
Sam Bowlby glanced at his teammates in disgust. "Still trying to improve Anglo-animal relations," he commented, and closed his eyes. Classes would be starting in Hanover tomorrow.