The Calcutta Cup Match
THE CALCUTTA CUP
PRESENTED TO THE RUGBY FOOTBALL UNION
BY THE CALCUTTA FOOTBALL CLUB
AS AN INTERNATIONAL CHALLENGE CUP
TO BE PLAYED FOR ANNUALLY BY ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND
1878
(Inscription at the base)
The long-awaited rugby clash between Scotland and England finally happened this weekend and I went to the Pelican to watch it over a pint or two. As the only Scotland supporter in the village, I thought it wise to keep a low profile. That wasn’t so hard when Scotland managed a try to scrape a two figure score just before half-time and I felt I didn’t have to surpress my groans so much.
I was sitting at a table on my own and being an obvious stranger the bartender asked me in passing whether I was Scottish.
“No, but I used to live in Scotland. I live here now.” I decided to forestall his next question by saving him the bother of asking: “I am German, actually”—which lead to the inevitable smalltalk about where from in Germany etc.
I pulled a face when Jamie Noon scored his second try against Scotland. Honestly: is one not enough? There are plenty of players that have never scored a Six Nation try (many of them Scottish and on the pitch). Give them a chance for cripe’s sake…
“My mate over there’s been to Germany,” the bartender continued; obviously not a rugby fan. I turned and smiled at a white-haired geezer sitting a few tables back. Then the bartender returned to his post, leaving me to watch the rest of the match.
Scotland fought bravely, but England played like a team possessed. Jeff Noon made it a hat-trick—the first since John Carleton in 1980 and only the third in the Calcutta Cup’s 127 year history.
“…of course”, the commentator enthused:” everybody remembers Cyril Lowe in 1914!” At this laughter rippled through the pub, although the majority of patrons were old enough to have fought in the war.
Final score: 43-22.
When I placed my glass back on the bar, the bartender insisted on introducing me to his mate who’d been to Germany. I sighed but shook the guy’s hand and to my surprise he addressed me in heavily accented but flawless German. I had to wait for a while to allow my brain to adjust—to my great embarrassment the words wouldn’t come right away. It turned out that the man had been in Germany for a year back in the early seventies. I have lived in Denmark for 2½ years in the mid eighties and I cannot speak Danish at the top of my head any more. So I asked the man where he had learnt German. “In school, of course,” he said. Wow.
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Denni