The art of the being Welsh
I think I mentioned in a recent blog my reading the biography of Aneurin Bevan the famous father of the National Health Service, unique in its claim for being "free at the point of entry" which means that everyone needing health care has no need for complicated insurance processes but, at the point of need a human being is entitled to medical attention regardless of the cost. It was the premium a civilised country in 1947 was prepared to pay.
Bevan came from Tredegar a mining village which I visited a number of years ago and saw for myself the deprivation which resulted from the industrial war Margret Thatcher had waged on the miners in the 1970s. Although 40 years had elapsed the place was still a Ghost town, people living off benefit, living in a hopeless industrial cul-de-sac, with no investment, it was if the clock had stopped when the mines closed.
The book rings with Welsh names and colloquial habits. It speaks of a nation different and proud of their difference. The strange Celtic spellings which provide a lilt to the language even when the names are spoken in English. The inheritance of tribal names, Bryn, Dai, Evan and the surnames Jones, Williams, Evans match the families in the rude collages and the stone terraced houses of Tredegar, Ebbw Vale, Rhymney, Aberrysswg, Trefil, and Cam.
Often short in stature but large in character with their rich community based Eisteddfod and world renowned male voiced choirs.
The tradition of rugby lies at the base of all Welshmen and yesterday saw this nation triumph against their old enemy England. Before the match apparently all the England team had to do was turn up they were such heavy favourites. No one of course in the crowd believed that and after a hair tingling rendition of, Hen Wlad Fy Nhaday - Land of My Fathers, a song sung with such fervour and passion that it never ceases to bring a tear to my eye.
A game of two halves, England seemed set to dominate in the first half with a repeat of the tactical kicking that had played such a part in their magnificent defeats over the Irish and France. But something was missing. The arch mobiliser their captain Owen Farrell was off key, his strategic kicking into space behind the opposition and the pace of the wings to capitalise was missing. Led by the impressive Alun Wyn Jones the Welsh nullified the space into which England had sort territorial advantage and England had no other game plan to dominate. They lost the game in having their previous tactic nullified and seemed unable to conjure any alternative. Instead the creative spark came from Wales and that enigmatic personality, Dan Bigger whose insertion into the side part way through the second half turned the game around.
The tradition of rugby lies at the base of all Welshmen and yesterday saw this nation triumph against their old enemy England. Before the match apparently all the England team had to do was turn up they were such heavy favourites. No one of course in the crowd believed that and after a hair tingling rendition of, Hen Wlad Fy Nhaday - Land of My Fathers, a song sung with such fervour and passion that it never ceases to bring a tear to my eye.
A game of two halves, England seemed set to dominate in the first half with a repeat of the tactical kicking that had played such a part in their magnificent defeats over the Irish and France. But something was missing. The arch mobiliser their captain Owen Farrell was off key, his strategic kicking into space behind the opposition and the pace of the wings to capitalise was missing. Led by the impressive Alun Wyn Jones the Welsh nullified the space into which England had sort territorial advantage and England had no other game plan to dominate. They lost the game in having their previous tactic nullified and seemed unable to conjure any alternative. Instead the creative spark came from Wales and that enigmatic personality, Dan Bigger whose insertion into the side part way through the second half turned the game around.
Hubris pricked, England certainly didn't live up to their pre match hype and I would think the inhabitants of that tiny island in the Southern Ocean will be smiling knowing that 'the other rugby playing nations' still have some ground to make up.
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