Talk of the Toony: The Autobiography of Gregor Townsend. Gregor Townsend
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starting line-up for the first time – at outside-centre. As Scott Hastings was injured, the selectors opted for the experience of Craig Chalmers at stand-off and I was partnered in the centres with the hugely underrated Ian Jardine. The game was to be a disaster for Scotland – we were soundly beaten on the scoreboard as well as in the all-in brawl that had erupted early in the match. Given the terrible weather, our limited style of play and our poor performance, my first start in the Five Nations almost felt like a non-event.
I was by and large a spectator in the first half, and I didn’t touch the ball until the thirty-third minute, and even then it wasn’t from a pass. This wasn’t too much of a surprise in those days because Scotland tended to adopt a kick-and-chase approach to the game. Although I was itching to be involved, I didn’t let myself get frustrated and I tried to be positive when the ball eventually did come my way.
My involvement in the play increased tenfold when I was moved to stand-off after Craig Chalmers left the field injured in the second half. By that stage the match was beyond us, but at least we did try to chase the game as much as we could. I enjoyed my first taste of international rugby as a number 10 even though I now had the dubious distinction of having played three positions – stand-off, inside- and outside-centre – in what was only my second cap. Little did I know then that this was to be a recurring feature of my Scotland career.
I did my best to take the game to the Welsh and nearly got on the end of a chip-and-chase to score a try. I knocked over a drop-goal, although the referee, Patrick Robin, inexplicably ruled that it had fallen under the crossbar. Admittedly, it was a wobbly effort but the players on both sides knew that it had been good. Television pictures later showed that my drop-goal was a valid one and that I should have registered my first points for Scotland. Soaked to the skin, I tried my best to persuade Monsieur Robin that the ball had gone over the bar. My lack of French meant that I was reduced to playing a game of charades with the referee to explain my frustrations. Unfortunately, it was all to no avail, which really upset our hooker Kenny Milne, who was claiming a share in the drop-goal that never was.
Kenny had come to my aid before the match as I was facing an extremely embarrassing situation just before going out to win my first full cap. Trying to relax in the changing rooms at the Arms Park, I noticed that other players in the side were changing their studs for longer ones – the pitch had become a mud bath due to some torrential rain. My studs weren’t too bad but, being a student, it was ingrained in me not to turn down anything that was free. ‘I’ll take a handful of those, please’ I said to one of the forwards, who handed me a dozen shiny new studs.
I waited patiently for a pair of pliers, and then set about changing my studs. Obviously my technique wasn’t the best as I broke the insert on a couple of studs, thus making my boots quite unusable. This was potentially disastrous as the game was less than an hour away. The only player who had a spare pair of boots in their kitbag was Kenny Milne, so I was saved the mortification of running around in lopsided boots. The downside to wearing Kenny’s boots, though, was that they were a size 9, which was one size smaller than I normally took. It was a painful lesson that reminded me to be more organized in my match preparations.
The 29–6 defeat to Wales, which had followed on the heels of the hammering by the All Blacks, dealt a further blow to the confidence of Scottish rugby. The result in Cardiff, however, wasn’t the most important issue – rather the fact that we had been bullied up front and were unimaginative and leaden-footed in the backs. Next up was the Calcutta Cup game and there was much soul-searching and hand-wringing throughout the land as to how we could get back to winning ways against the Auld Enemy. And at a time of crisis, who better to turn to than a real live talisman – Gary Armstrong.
Gary had actually retired from the international game some nine months previously and had been playing at fullback and centre for his club, Jedforest, before being persuaded to make himself available once more for Scotland. He is a heroic figure to supporters and players alike and, having been named at stand-off for the first time, it was an honour to be selected as his half-back partner.
I remember in my first year at Edinburgh University going into a pub that was a local for the motorbike community and a small number of students who were attracted by the cheap beer, where the walls were covered with photos and newspaper cuttings of Gary who was obviously loved by the clientele. I don’t know if he was aware about this unlikely shrine to him, but it illustrates the high regard in which he was held by Scots from all walks of life.
The match was to be the most emotional fixture at Murrayfield since the Grand Slam game against the same opponents in 1990. Gary started the match as if he had never been away from the Test arena and was desperately unlucky to have a try ruled out early on for a double-movement. Fortunately, Rob Wainwright scored soon after this and our forwards began to get the upper hand in their battle with the hulking English pack. This was a remarkable transformation from the Welsh game and maybe had something to do with the rucking session that Jim Telfer had taken with the forwards at our hotel on the morning of the match. Officially, Jim wasn’t allowed to coach the team as he was now in the salaried position of SRU Director of Rugby. His appearance on the Saturday morning certainly focused the minds of our forward pack – he didn’t hold back during the intense session, which was all about keeping a low body position and flying hard into rucks.
However, I was disappointed with my own contribution as I was kicking most of the ball I received from Gary. This was, in fact, our game plan and at times it brought success – our try had come from an up-and-under – but I didn’t utilize the quick ball that came my way to run at the opposition. My role in the game could have been a lot more influential. The absence of conviction was due to a lack of confidence, which was probably the first time in my career I had felt this way. The events of the closing minutes very nearly erased from my memory my lack of attacking ambition, as we looked to have won the match in injury time.
England had clawed their way back into the game and led 12–11 going into the last minute of the match. According to a newspaper headline the following day, I was ‘A hero for sixty seconds’. From slow ruck ball wide on the left I managed at last to drop a goal for Scotland, following two earlier misses in the match and my disallowed effort against Wales. This time I was very grateful to the referee as I’d struck my kick very high and I wasn’t totally sure myself whether it had gone inside or outside the left upright.
As the game moved deeper into injury time, I was anxious that we might be denied our hard-earned victory. I had a vision of Rob Andrew dropping a goal just like he had done to win the World Cup semi-final 9–6 against Scotland in 1991. It was with this in mind that I sprinted out of defence to try and charge down my opposite number, as Andrew had positioned himself in the pocket to go for the winning kick. I lunged forward at the right moment and his drop-goal attempt crashed against my arms. When I saw Ian Jardine secure the loose ball I was now sure that we were going to win the match. Unfortunately, the referee had other ideas.
As we surged forward, the New Zealand referee, Lyndsay McLachlan, blew his whistle to award a penalty for handling in the ruck … to England! This was a stupefying decision, as we had recovered the ball – why would we have wanted to handle in the ruck for ball that we had just won? More importantly the ball came out on the English side, which meant that whoever had handled the ball on the ground had wanted to turnover Scottish possession.
A few days later, television pictures confirmed that an English hand had scooped the ball back from the ruck. The guilty party was Scotland’s nemesis, Rob Andrew. The only thing that could excuse the referee from his appalling decision was that England had navy cuffs on their white jerseys. But surely McLachlan was aware of this anomaly before his game-changing aberration? It was suggested that England would now be stitching green cuffs to their sleeves for their next match against Ireland.
Anyway, Jon Callard held his nerve and his successful penalty-kick gave England a 15–14 win. The referee blew the final whistle immediately after the ball sailed through the uprights. We were absolutely gutted and a nation was seething with outrage. Our captain Gavin Hastings even broke down in tears during a television interview after the match. This won him many more admirers and he told the squad the following week that he had received hundreds of letters of support – which even included one from my mum!
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